HABOtO 8. UQE UBRAHY BRI0HAM YOUNQ UNIVeR8rr> PROVO. UTAH Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from Brigham Young University http://www.archive.org/details/worksofwilliamsh19121shak ^be IDictoria JEbition THE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. L ^2753 THE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE VOL. I. COMEDIES Hontion MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY I 90 I Ail rights reso'ved First Edition 1887. Reprinted xZ^^d, 1898, 1899, igoi HAROLD B. LEE LIBRARY "* BRIGHAM YOUNG UNIVERSITYi PROYO, UTAH , „.^u DEDICATED BY GRACIOUS PERMISSION TO 1ber /Il^aje0tp tbe (iiueen CONTENTS The Tempest . ; The Two Gentlemen of Verona The Merry Wives of Windsor Measure for Measure . The Comedy of Errors . Much Ado about Nothing Love's Labour's Lost A Midsummer-Night's Dream The Merchant of Venice As You Like it . The Taming of the Shrew All's Well that Ends Well Twelfth Night ; or, What You Will The Winter's Tale 35 69 109 152 182 220 262 295 336 375 416 460 497 The Text of this Edition has been taken from the Globe Shakespeare, edited by William George Clark and William Aldis Wright. The obelus f was used by the Editors to mark passages which in their opinion had not been satisfactorily corrected. The Glossary is entirely new. THE TEMPEST DRAMATIS PERSONi^. ^ Alonso, King of Naples. Sebastian, his brother. Prospero, the right Duke of Milan. Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples. GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor. Adrian, It a „ J- Lords. Francisco, J Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. Trinculo, a Jester. Stephano, a drunken Butler. Master of a Ship. Boatswain. Mariners. Miranda, daughter to Prospero. Ariel, an airy Spirit. Iris, Ceres, Juno, y presented by Spirits. Nymphs, Reapers, Other Spirits attending on Prospero. Scene : A ship at Sea : an island. ACT I. Scene I. On a ship at sea : a tem- pestuous noise of thunder mid lightning heard. Enter a Ship- Master and a Boatswain. Mast. Boatswain ! Boats. Plere, master : what cheer ? Mast. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. \_Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts ! yare, yare ! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough ! Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo, and others. Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where 's the master ? Play the men. ii Boats. I pray now, keep below. Ant. Where is the master, boatswain ? Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar our labour : keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. VOL. I. ^ Go7t. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What cares these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : silence ! trouble us not. Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. 21 Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority : if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make your- self ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts ! Out of our way, I say. {Exit. Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is per- fect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging : make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advan- tage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. \Exeunt. Re-enter Boatswain. Boats. Down with the topmast ! yare ! lower, lower ! Bring her to try with B THE TEMPEST ACT T main-course. {.4 cry within. '\ A plague upon this howling ! they are louder than the weather or our office. 40 Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and GONZALO. Yet again ! what do you here ? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink ? Seb. A pox o' your throat, yovi bawl- ing, blasphemous, incharitable dog ! Boats. Work you then. Atit. Hang, cur ! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker ! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an unstanched wench. 51 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! set her two courses off to sea again ; lay her off. Enter Mariners wet. Mariners. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let's assist them, For our case is as theirs. Seb. I 'm out of patience. Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards : This wide-chapp'd rascal — would thou mightst lie drowning 60 The washing of ten tides ! Gon. He'll be hang'd yet. Though every drop of water swear against it And gape at widest to glut him. \A confused noise tvitlmt : ' Mercy on us!' 'We split, we split!' — 'Farewell my wife and children ! ' — 'Farewell, brother!' — 'We split, wc split, we split ! '] Ant. Let's all sink with the king. Seb. Let's take leave of him. {^Exeunt Ant. and Seb. Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done ! but I would fain die a dry death, [Exeunt. Scene IL The island. Before Prospero's cell. Enter Prospero a7id Miranda. yl/zr. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch. But that the sea, mounting to the wel- kin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have sufifer'd With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel. Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish 'd. 9 Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her. Pros. Be collected : No more amazement : tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. Mir. O, woe the day ! Pros. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee. Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full })oor cell, And thy no greater father. 21 Alir. More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pros. 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand. And pluck my magic garment from me. So : \_f.ays down his mantle. SCENE II THE TEMPEST Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul — No, not so much perdition as an hair 30 Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which- thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know farther. Mir. You have often Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding ' Stay : not yet.' Pros. The hour 's now come ; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell ? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not 40 Out three years old. Mir. Certainly, sir, I can. Pros. By what ? by any other house or person ? Of any thing the image tell me that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mir. 'Tis far off And rather )ike a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me ? Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda, But how is it That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time ? If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here, 51 How thou camest here thou mayst. Mir. But that I do not. Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since. Thy father was the Duke of Milan and A prince of power. Mir. vSir, are not you my father ? Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter ; and thy father Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir And princess no worse issued. Mir. O the heavens ! What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 60 Or blessed was't we did? Pros. Both, both, my girl : By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence, But blessedly holp hither. Mir. O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to. Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, farther. Pros. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio — I pray thee, mark me — that a brother: should Be so perfidious ! — he whom next thyself Of all the world I loved and to him put The manage of my state ; as at that time Through all the signories it was the first And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel; those being all my study. The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — Dost thou attend me ? Mir. Sir, most heedfully. Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who to advance and who 80 To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new form'd 'em ; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was THE TEMPEST ACT I The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. Mir. O, good sir, I do. Pros. I pray thee, mark me. I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedi- cated To closeness and the bettering of my mind With that which, but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awaked an evil nature; and my trust. Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary as great As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded. But what my power might else exact, like one f Who having into truth, by telling of it. Made such a sinner of his memory, loi To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke ; out o' the sub- stitution. And executing the outward face of royalty. With all prerogative : hence his ambition growing — Dost thou hear ? Mir. Your tale, sir, would cure deaf- ness. Pros. To have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough : of temporal royalties no He thinks me now incapable; con- federates— So dry he was for sway — wi' the King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage. Subject his coronet to his crown and bend The dukedom yet unbow'd — alas, poor Milan ! — To most ignoble stooping. Mir. O the heavens! Pros. Mark his condition and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother. Mir. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother : Clood wombs have borne bad sons. Pros. Now the condition. This King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises Of homage and I know not how much tribute. Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan With all the honours on my brother : whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight P'ated to the purpose did Antonio open The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, 130 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Me and thy crying self. Mir. Alack, for pity ! I, not remembering how I cried out then. Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't. Pros. Hear a little further And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon's; without the which this story Were most impertinent. Mir. Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us ? Pros. Well demanded, wench : My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, 140 So dear the love my people bore me, nor set A mark so bloody on the business, but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd. Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats SCENE 11 THE TEMPEST Instinctively have quit it : there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh _ To the winds whose pity, sighing back again, 150 Did us but loving wrong. Mir. Alack, what trouble Was I then to you ! P7'os. O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile. Infused with a fortitude from heaven. When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Under my burthen groan'd ; which raised in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. Mir. How came we ashore ? Pros. By Providence divine. Some food we had and some fresh water that 160 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, who being then ap- pointed Master of this design, did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and neces- saries. Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. Mir. Would I might But ever see that man ! Pros. Now I arise : \^Resumes his viantle. Sit still, and hear the last of our sea- sorrow. 170 Here in this island we arrived; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princesses can that have more time For vainer hours and tutors not so careful. Mir. Heavens thank you for 't ! And now, I pray you, sir. For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason For raising this sea-storm ? Pros. Know thus far forth. By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore; and by my pre- science 180 I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more cjuestions : Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness. And give it way : I know thou canst not choose. {^Miratida sleeps. Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel, come. Enter Ariel. Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail ! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, 190 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bid- ding task Ariel and all his quality. Pros. Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? Ari. To every article. I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement: sometime I 'Id divide. And burn in many places; on the top- mast. The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 200 Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors O' the dreadful thunder - claps, more momentary And sight -outrunning were not ; the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune THE TEMPEST ACT I Seem to besiege and make his l)old waves tremble, Vea, his dread trident shake. Pros. My brave spirit ! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason ? Ari. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners 210 Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring, — then like reeds, not hair, — Was the first man that leap'd; cried, ' Hell is empty. And all the devils are here.' Pros. ' Why, that 's my spirit ! But was not this nigh shore ? Ai'i. Close by, my master. Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe ? Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; On their sustaining garments not a blemish. But fresher than before : and, as thou badest me, In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle. * 220 The king's son have I landed by himself; Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. Pros. Of the king's ship The mariners say how thou hast disjDosed And all the rest o' the fleet. Ari. Safely in harbour Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she 's hid : The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; Who, with a charm join'd to their sufier'd labour, 231 I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet Which I dispersed, they all have met again And are upon the Mediterranean flote, P)Ound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd And his great person perish. Pros. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd : but there 's more work. What is the time o' the day ? Ari. Past the mid season. Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now 240 Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. Is there more toil ? Since thou dost give me pains. Let me remember thee what thou hast promised. Which is not yet perform'd me. Pros. How now ? moody ? What is't thou canst demand? Ari. My liberty. Pros. Before the time be out ? no more ! Ari. I i)rithee, Ivemember I have done thee worthy service ; Told thee no lies, made thee no mistak- ings, served Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst promise To bate me a full year. 250 Pros. Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee ? . Ari. No. Pros. Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep. To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' the earth When it is baked with frost. Ari. I do not, sir. Pros. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her? Ari. No, sir. Pros. Thou hast. Where was she born ? speak ; tell me. 260 SCENE II THE TEMPEST An. Sir, in Argier. Pj-os. O, was she so ? I must Once in a month recount what thou hast been , Which thou forget'st. This damn'cl witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terril)le To enter human hearing, from Argier, Thou know'st, was banish'd : for one thing she did They would not take her life. Is not this true ? Art. Ay, sir. Pros. This blue -eyed hag was hither brought with child And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, 270 As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant ; And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee. By help of her more potent ministers And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died And left thee there ; where thou didst vent thy groans 280 As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island — Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp hag-born — not honour'd with A human shape. A7'i. Yes, Galilean her son. Pros. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in ; thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts Of ever angry bears : it was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo : it was mine art, When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape The pine and let thee out. A7'i. I thank thee, master. Pros, If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee in his knotty entrails till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Art. Pardon, master; I will l)e correspondent to command And do my spiriting gently. Pros. Do so, and after two days I will discharge thee. Art. That's my noble master ! What shall I do ? say what ; what shall I do ? 300 Pros. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea : be subject To no sight but thine and mine, invisible To every eyeball else. Go take this shape And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence ! {Exit Ariel. Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well; Awake ! Mir. The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. P7'os. Shake it off. Come on ; We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. Mir. 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. Pros. But, as 'tis. We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 311 Fetch in our wood and serves in offices That profit us. What, ho ! slave ! Cali- ban ! Thou earth, thou ! speak. Cal. [ Withi)i\ There 's wood enough within. Pros. Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee : Come, thou tortoise ! when ? Re-enter Ariel like a ivater-nyuiph. Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ari. My lord, it shall be done. \Exit. Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! 320 THE TEMPEST ACT I Enie?' Caliban. Cal. As wicked clew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye And blister you all o'er ! Pfos. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps. Side -stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd *As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more r"^ stinging 329 Than bees that made 'em. • Cal. I must eat my dinner. ^ This island 's mine, by Sycorax my mother, ^^ Which thou takest from me. When .^^^ thou camest first, "^ Thou strokedst me and madest much of ■^v me, wouldst give me •-^ Water with berries in't, and teach me j how .^^ To name the bigger light, and how the •^ , less, / / (That burn by day and night : and then I loved thee And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, -v ' The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place V\ JF and fertile : ' .^^ • ^^(vfeursed be I that did so ! All the •^ ^^ jO^ charms (^ jfT Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on / * »y For I am all the subjects that you have, yir ^ Which first was mine own king : and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o' the island. Pros. Thou most lying slave. Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have used thee. Filth as thou art, with human care, and lod£>"ed thee In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. Cal. O ho, O ho ! would 't had been done ! Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 350 This isle with Calibans. P7'0s. Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness wilt not take. Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage. Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race. Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou 360 Deservedly confined into this rock. Who hadst deserved more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language ! Pros. Hag-seed, hence ! I'^etch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. vShrug'st thou, malice ? If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps. Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar 37 '^ That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Cal. No, pray thee. [Aside] I must obey : his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pros. So, slave ; hence ! [ExzY Caliban. .SCENE IT THE TEMPEST Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND follotving. Ariel's song. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : Courtsied when you have and kiss'd The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there ; 380 And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Btirthen {dispei-sed/y.'] Hark, hark! Bow-wow, The watch-dogs bark : Bow-wow. Ari. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. Fe7\ Where should this music be ? i' the air or the earth ? Tt sounds no more : and, sure, it waits upon Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck. This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. Ariel sings. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made ; Those are pearls that were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change 400 Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Btirthen. Ding-dong. Ari. Hark ! now I hear them, — Ding- dong, bell. Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say what thou seest yond. Mir. What is 't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 410 It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. Pros. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest Was in the wreck; and, but he's some- thing stain'd With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows And strays about to find 'em. Mir. I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. Pros. [Aside] It goes on, I see. As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit ! I '11 free thee 420 Within two days for this. Per. Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe my prayer May know if you remain upon this island ; And that you will some good instruction give How I may bear me here : my prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! If you be maid or no ? Afi;-. No wonder, sir; But certainly a maid. Per. My language ! heavens ! I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pros. How ? the best ? What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee ? 431 Per. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me ; And that he does I weep : myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld 10 THE TEMPEST ACT I The king my father wreck'd. Allr. Alack, for mercy ! Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan And his brave son being twain. Pros. \Aside\ The Duke of 'Milan And his more braver daughter could con- trol thee, If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight 440 They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel, I'll set thee free for this. \To F'er.'\ A word, good sir; I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word. Mh'. Why speaks my father so un- gently ? This Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father To be inclined my way ! Fer. O, if a virgin. And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The queen of Naples. Pros. Soft, sir ! one word more. \Aside\ They are both in cither's powers ; but this swift business 450 I must uneasy make, lest too light win- ning Make the prize light. \To Per.] One word more; I charge thee That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself Upon this island as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a man. Alir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : If the ill spirit have so fair a house. Good things will strive to dwell with't. Pros. Follow me. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come ; 460 I 'II manacle thy neck and feet together : Sea -water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. Per. No ; I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power. [D?'a7as, and is charmed fro Jfi moving. Mir. O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle and not fearful. Pros. What ? I say, My foot my tutor ? Put thy sword up, traitor ; Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience 470 Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward. For I can here disarm thee with this stick And make thy weapon drop. Mir. Beseech you, father. Pros. Hence ! hang not on my gar- ments. I\Iir. Sir, have pity ; I '11 be his surety. Pros. Silence ! one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! An advocate for an impostor ! hush ! Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban : fool- ish wench ! To the most of men this is a Caliban And they to him are angels. 481 Mir. My affections Are then most humble ; I have no ambi- tion To see a goodlier man. Pros. Come on ; obey : Thy nerves are in their infancy again And have no vigour in them. Fer. So they are; My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 491 SCENE II THE TEMPEST II Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. Pros. \^Aside'\ It works. {To Per.] Come on. Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [7o Pej'.l Follow me. [7b Ari.'\ Hark what thou else shalt do me. Apr. Be of comfort ; My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech : this is un- wonted Which now came from him. Pros. Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds : but then exactly do All points of my command. Art. To the syllable. Pros. Come, follow. Speak not for him. \Exeimt. ACT H. Scene I. Another part of the island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, GoNZALO, Adrian, Francisco, and others. Go7t. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, vSo have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common ; every day some sailor's wife. The masters of some merchant and the merchant Have just our theme of woe ; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. Alon. Prithee, peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. lo Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit ; by and by it .will strike. Go7i. Sir, — Seb. One: tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that 's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer — Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed : you have spoken truer than you purposed. Seb. You- have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. 21 Gon. Therefore, my lord, — Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ! Alon. I prithee, spare. Gon. Well, I have done : but yet, — Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins tO' crow ? Seb. The old cock. 30 The cockerel. Done. The wager ? A laughter. A match ! Though this island seem to be Ant. Seb. Ant. Seb. Adr. desert, - Seb. Adr. cessible, — Seb. Yet, Adr Ant Adr Ha, ha, ha ! So, you 're paid. Uninhabitable and almost inac- Yet, — He could not miss't. 40 It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was adelicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Seb. As if it had lungs and rotten ones. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. Here is everything advantageous Ant. Gon. to life. Ant. Seb. Gon. looks ! Ant. Seb. Ant. Seb. 50 True ; save means to live. Of that there's none, or little. How lush and lusty the grass how green ! The ground indeed is tawny. With an eye of green in 't. He misses not much. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is, indeed almost beyond credit, — Seb. As many vouched rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwith- -which is 12 THE 7EMPEST ACT 11 standing their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies ? Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Go7i. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen. Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow ! a pox o' that ! How came that widow in ? widow Dido ! Seb. What if he had said * widower Eneas' too? Good Lord, how you take it! 80 Adr. ' Widow Dido ' said you ? you make me study of that : she was of Car- thage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Adr. Carthage ? Gon. I assure you, Carthage. Seb. His word is more than the mira- culous harp ; he hath raised the wall and houses too. Ant, What impossible matter will he make easy next ? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple. 91 Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay. A7it. Why, in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. A7it. O, widow Dido ! ay, widow Dido. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it ? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fished for. Go7i. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ? Alon. You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence. My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed no I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee ? Fran. Sir, he may live: I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water. Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 120 As stooping to relieve him : I not doubt He came alive to land. Alon. No, no, he's gone. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African; Where she at least is banish'd from your eye. Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. Alon. Prithee, peace. Seb. You were kneel'd to and impor- tuned otherwise By all of us, and the fair soul herself Weigh'd between loathness and obedi- ence, at 130 Which end o' the beam should bow. W^e have lost your son, I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have Moe widows in them of this business' making Than we bring men to comfort them : The fault's your own. Alon. So is the dear'st o' the loss. SCENE I THE TEMPEST n Gon. My lord vSebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness And time to speak it in : you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. Self. Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 140 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather ? A?tt. Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, — Ant. He 'Id sow't with nettle-seed. Seb. Or docks,- or mallows. Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do ? Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. Gon. V the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, 150 And use of service, none; contract, suc- cession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure ; No sovereignty; — Seb. Yet he would be king on't. Ajit. The latter end of his common- wealth forgets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 160 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; Imt nature should bring forth, Of it own kind, all foison, all abund- ance, To feed my innocent people. Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? Atit. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir. To excel the golden age. Seb, God save his majesty ! Ant. Long like Gonzalo ! Gon. And, — do you mark me, sir ? Alon. Prithee, no more : thou dost talk nothing to me. 171 Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant. 'Twas you we lavighed at. Gon. Who in this kind of merry fool- ing am nothing to you : so you may con- tinue and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given ! Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 181 Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat- fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 190 {All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant. Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I find They are inclined to do so. Seb. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it : It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. Ant. We two, my lord. Will guard your person while you take your rest. And watch your safety. Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. \_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. Seb. What a strange drowsiness pos- sesses them ! 14 THE TEMPEST ACT II Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. Seh. Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink ? I find not 20I Myself disposed to sleep. Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent ; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian ? O, what might ?- No more : — And yet methinks I see it in thy face, What thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thee, and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. Seh. What, art thou waking? Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? Seh. I do; and surely It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say ? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speak- ing, moving. And yet so fast asleep. An'. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die, rather ; wink'st Whiles thou art waking, Seh. Thou dost snore distinctly ; There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my cus- tom : you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do Trebles thee o'er. 221 Seh. Well, I am standing water. Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. Seh. Do so : to ebb Hereditary sloth instructs me. Atit. O, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in strip- ping it, You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, Most often do so near the bottom run By their own fear or sloth. Seh. Prithee, say on : The setting of thine eye and cheek pro- claim A matter from thee, and a birth indeed Which throes thee much to yield. 231 Ant. Thus, sir : Although this lord of weak remembrance, this, Who shall be of as little memory When he is earth'd, hath here almost per- suaded,— For he's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade, — the king his son's alive, 'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd As he that sleeps here swims. Seh. I have no hope That he's undrown'd. Ant. O, out of that ' no hope ' What great hope have you ! no hope that way is 240 Another way so high a hope that even Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond. But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me That Ferdinand is drown'd ? Seh. He's gone. Ant. Then, tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples? Seh. Claribel. Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Najiles Can have no note, unless the sun were post — The man i' the moon 's too slow — till new- born chins Be rough and razorable; she that — from whom ? 250 We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again, And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge. Seh. What stuff is this ! how say you ? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis ; So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. A space whose every culiit Seems to cry out, ' How shall that Claribel SCENE I THE TEMPEST 15 Measure us back to Naples ? Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake. ' Say, this were death 260 That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples As well as -he that sleeps ; lords that can prate As amply and unnecessarily As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this For your advancement ! Do you under- stand me ? Seb. Methinks I do. Ant. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune ? Seb. I remember You did supplant your brother Prospero. Ant. True : And look how well my garments sit upon me ; 272 Much feater than before : my brother's servants Were then my fellows; now they are my men. Seb. But, for your conscience ? Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if 'twere a kibe, 'T would put me to my slipper : but I feel not This deity in my ])osom: twenty con- sciences. That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they And melt ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, 280 No better than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he's like, that's dead ; Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever ; whiles you, doing thus. To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk ; They '11 tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. Seh. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent ; as thou got'st Milan, 291 I '11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest : And I the king shall love thee. Ant. Draw together; And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O, but one word. [ They talk apart. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me forth — For else his project dies — to keep them living. \Sings in Gonzalo' s ear. While you here do snoring lie, 300 Open-eyed conspiracy His time doth take. If of life you keep a care, Shake oft" slumber, and beware : Awake, awake ! Ant. Then let us both be sudden. Gon. Now, good angels Preserve the king. \They wake. Alon. Why, how now ? ho, awake ! Why are you drawn ? Wherefore this ghastly looking? Gon. What's the matter ? Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, 310 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions : did 't not wake you ? It struck mine ear most terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, To make an earthquake ! sure, it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. i6 THE TEMPEST ACT II Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me : I shaked you, sir, and cried : as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn : there was a noise, 320 That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place : let 's draw our weapons. Alon. Lead off this groimd ; and let 's make further search For my poor son. Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! For he is, sure, i' the island. Alon. Lead away. Art. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done : So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. \_Exeunt. Scene H. Another part of the island. Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard. Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me And yet I needs must curse. But they '11 nor pinch, Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the mire. Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid 'em ; but For every trifle are they set upon me; Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which ID Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount Their pricks at my footfall ; sometime am I All wound with adders who with cloven tongues Do hiss me into madness. Enter Trinculo. Lo, now, lo ! I lere comes a spirit of his, and to torment me For bringing wood in slowly. I '11 fall flat ; Perchance he will not mind me. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I hear it sing i' the wind : yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head : yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish- like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-John. A strange fish ! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man : when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame l)eggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man ! and his fins like arms ! Warm o' my troth ! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [ Thunder. '\ Alas, the storm is come again ! my best way is to creep under his gaber- dine; there is no other shelter hereabout : misery acquaints a man with strange bed- fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter Stephano, singing : a bottle in his hand. Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, ITere shall I die ashore — This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: well, here's my comfort. \Drinks. \Si71gs. The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I, The gunner and his mate Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate ; 5 1 SCENE II THE TEMPEST 17 For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, Go hang ! She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch : Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang ! This is a scurvy tune too : but here's my comfort. {^Drinks. Cal. Do not torment me : Oh ! Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon's with savages and men of Ind, ha ? I have not 'scaped drowning to be afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground ; and it shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at nostrils. Cal. The spirit torments me ; Oh ! Ste. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language ? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and keep him tame and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather. Cal. Do not torment me, prithee ; I '11 bring my wood home faster. Ste. He's in his fit now and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. 8 1 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trem- bling : now Prosper works upon thee. Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give lan- guage to you, cat : open your mouth ; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell who's your friend: open your chaps again, Trin. I should know that voice : it should be — but he is drowned ; and these are devils : O defend me ! Ste. Four legs and two voices : a most delicate monster ! His forward voice now VOL. I. is to speak well of his friend; his back- ward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come. Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. Trin. Stephano ! 100' Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy, mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster : I will leave him ; I have no long spoon. Trin. Stephano ! If thou beest Ste- phano, touch me and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo — be not afeard— thy good friend Trinculo. Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth : I '11 pull thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed ! How earnest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can he vent Trinculos ? Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephano ? I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown ? I hid me under the dead moon-calf s gaber- dine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano ? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped ! Ste. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant. Cal. [Aside] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor. 121 I will kneel to him. Ste. How didst thou 'scape ? How earnest thou hither ? swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors heaved o'erboard, by this bottle ! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands since I was cast ashore. Cal. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly. Ste. Here; swear then how thou escapedst. 7rin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though C THE TEMPEST ACT HI thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. Trill. O Stephano, hast any more of this? Ste. The whole butt, man : my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf ! how does thine ague ? Cal. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven ? 140 Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was the man i' the moon when time was. Cal. I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee : My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and thy bush. Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will furnish it anon with new contents : swear. Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster ! I afeard of him ! A very weak monster ! The man i' the moon ! A most poor credulous monster ! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth ! Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island ; And I will kiss thy foot : I prithee, be my god. Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! when's god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear my- self thy subject. Ste. Come on then ; down, and swear. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster ! I could find in my heart to beat him, — 160 Ste. Come, kiss. Trin. But that the poor monster's in drink : an abominable monster ! Cal. I '11 show thee the best springs ; I'll pluck thee berries; I '11 fish for thee and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee. Thou wondrous man. Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard ! 170 Cal. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts ; Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmoset ; I '11 bring thee To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get thee Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? Ste. I prithee now, lead the way with- out any more talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here : here ; bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. 181 Cal. \Sings driinkenly\ Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster ! Cal. No more dams I '11 make for fish ; Nor fetch in firing At requiring; Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish : 'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban Has a new master : get a new man. Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom, hey-day, freedom ! 191 Ste. O brave monster ! Lead the way. \Exeunt. ACT HI. Scene I. Before Prospero's cell. Enter Ferdinand, hearing a log. Fer. There be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nol)ly undergone and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me as odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is SCENE I THE TEMPEST 19 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, And he's composed of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs and pile them up, 10 Upon a sore injunction : my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness Had never like executor. I forget : But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, fMost busy lest, when I do it. Enter Miranda ; and Prospero at a distance, imseen. Mir. Alas, now, pray you. Work not so hard : I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile ! Pray, set it down and rest you : when this burns, 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at study ; pray now, rest your- self; 20 He's safe for these three hours. Fer. O most dear mistress, The sun will set before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. Mir. If you'll sit down, I '11 bear your logs the while : pray, give me that ; I'll carry it to the pile. Fer. No, precious creature ; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back. Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. Mir. It would become me As well as it does you : and I should do it With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, 30 And yours it is against. Pi'os. Poor worm, thou art infected ! This visitation shows it. Mir. You look wearily. Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do be- seech you — Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers — What is your name ? Mir. Miranda. — O my father, I have broke your hest to say so ! Fer. Admired Miranda ! Indeed the top of admiration ! worth What 's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady I have eyed with best regard and many a time 40 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues Have I liked several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed And put it to the foil : but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best ! Mir. I do not know One of my sex ; no woman's face remem- ber, Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 50 More that I may call men than you, good friend. And my dear father : how features are abroad, I am skilless of; but, by my modesty. The jewel in my dower, I would not wish Any companion in the world but you, Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly and my father's precepts I therein do forget. Fer. I am in my condition A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; I would, not so ! — and would no more endure 61 This wooden slavery than to suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak : The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 20 THE TEMPEST ACT III To make me slave to it ; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man. Mir. Do you love me ? Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound And crown what I profess with kind event If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert 70 What best is boded me to mischief! I Beyond all limit of what else i' the world Do love, prize, honour you. Mir. I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of. Pros. Fair encounter Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between 'em ! Fer. Wherefore weep you ? Mir. At mine unworthiness that dare not offer What I desire to give, and much less take What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ; And all the more it seeks to hide itself. The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bash- ful cunning ! 8 1 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I '11 die your maid : to be your fellow You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant. Whether you will or no. Fer. My mistress, dearest; And I thus humble ever. Mir. My husband, then ? Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom : here 's my hand. Mir. And mine, with my heart in 't : and now farewell 90 Till half an hour hence. Fer. A thousand thousand ! \E,xeiint Fer. and Mir. severally. Pros. So glad of this as they I cannot be. Who are surprised withal; but my re- joicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book. For yet ere supper-time must I perform Much business appertaining. \_Exit. wSCENE 11. Another part of the island. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. Ste. Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will drink water; not a drop before : therefore bear up, and board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. Trill. Servant-monster ! the folly of this island ! They say there 's but five upon this isle : we are three of them ; if th' other two be brained like us, the state totters. Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee : thy eyes are almost set in thy head. Trin. Where should they be set else ? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. Ste. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues off and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. 20 Ste. We '11 not run, Monsieur Monster. Trin. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs and yet say nothing neither. Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. Cal. How does thy honour ? Let me lick thy shoe. I '11 not serve him ; he is not valiant. Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant mon- ster : I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish, thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day ? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster ? Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, my lord ? Trin. ' Lord ' quoth he ! That a monster should be such a natural ! Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I prithee. Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head : if you prove a mutineer, — the next tree! The poor monster's my subject and he shall not suffer indignity. SCENE IT THE TEMPEST 21 Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee ? Ste. Marry, will I : kneel and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter Ariel, invisible. Cal. As I told thee before, I am sub- ject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. Ari. Thou liest. 51 Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou : I would my valiant master would destroy thee! I do not lie. Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, by this hand, I will sup- plant some of your teeth. Trin. Why, I said nothing. Ste. Mvnn, then, and no more. Pro- ceed. Cal. I say, l)y sorcery he got this isle ; From me he got it. If thy greatness will 61 Revenge it on him, — for I know thou darest, But this thing dare not, — Ste. That's most certain. Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve thee. Ste. How now shall this be compassed ? Canst thou bring me to the party ? Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I '11 yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. Ari. Thou liest; thou canst not. 70 Cal. What a pied ninny 's this ! Thou scurvy patch ! I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows And take his bottle from him : when that's gone He shall drink nought but brine ; for I 'II not show him Where the quick freshes are. Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors and make a stock -fish of thee. Trill. Why, what did I ? I did no- thing. I'll go farther off. 8i Ste. Didst thou not say he lied ? Ari. Thou liest. Ste. Do I so ? take thou that. \_Beats Trin.'] As you like this, give me the lie another time. Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers ! Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 90 Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand farther off. Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time I'll beat him too. Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him, r th' afternoon to sleep : there thou mayst brain him, Plaving first seized his books, or with a log ^ Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Re- member First to possess his books; for without them 100 He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command : they all do hate him As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. He has brave utensils, — for so he calls them, — Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter ; he himself Calls her a nonpareil : I never saw a woman, But only Sycorax my dam and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax no As great'st does least. Ste. Is it so brave a lass ? Cal. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant. And bring thee forth brave brood. Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his 22 THE TEMPEST ACT III daughter and I will be king and queen, — save our graces ! — and Trinculo and thy- self shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo ? Trin. Excellent. Ste. Give me thy hand : I am sorry I beat thee; but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 121 Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep : Wilt thou destroy him then ? Ste. Ay, on mine honour. Ari. This will I tell my master. Cal. Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure : Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch You taught me but while-ere ? Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. \Sings. Flout 'em and scout 'em 130 And scout 'em and flout 'em; Thought is free. Cal. That's not the tune. \_Ariel plays the tune on a tahor a7id pipe. Ste. What is this same ? Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody. Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. Trm. O, forgive me my sins ! Ste. He that dies pays all debts : I defy thee. Mercy upon us ! 141 Cal. Art thou afeard ? Ste. No, monster, not I. Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instru- ments Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming. The clouds methought would open and show riches 150 Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, I cried to dream again. Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. Ste. That shall be by and by : I re- member the story. Trin. The sound is going away ; let 's follow it, and after do our work. Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see this taborer; he lays it on. 160 Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Ste- phano. {Exeunt. Scene III. Aiiother part of the island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, GoNZALO, Adrian, Francisco, and others. Con. By 'r lakin, I can go no further, sir ; My old bones ache: here's a maze trod indeed Through forth-rights and meanders ! By your patience, I needs must rest me. A Ion. Old lord, I cannot blame thee. Who am myself attach'd with weariness, To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. Even here I will put off my hope and keep it No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. 10 Ant. [Aside to Se/}.] 1 am right glad that he 's so out of hope. Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose That you resolved to effect. Se/?. [Aside to Ant. 1 The next advantage Will we take throughly. Ant. [Aside to Sed.] Let it be to-night ; For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance As when they are fresh. Seb. [Aside to Ant.'\ I say, to-night: no more. [Solemn and strange music. SCENE III THE TEMPEST 23 Alon. "What harmony is this? My good friends, hark ! Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! Enter PROsrERO above, invisible. Enter stveral strange Shapes^ bringing in a banquet ; they dance about it ivith gentle actions of salutation ; and, in- viting the King, etc, to eat, they depart. Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What were these ? 20 Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe That there are unicorns, that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix At this hour reigning there. Ant. I '11 believe both ; And what does else want credit, come to me, And 111 le sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did lie. Though fools at home condemn 'em. Gon. If in Naples I should report this now, would they believe me ? If I should say, I saw such islanders — For, certes, these are people of the island — ■ 30 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, Their manners are more gentle-kind than of Our human generation you shall find Many, nay, almost any. Pros. [Aside] Honest lord. Thou hast said well; for some of you there present Are worse than devils. Alon. I cannot too much muse Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing. Although they want the use of tongue, a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. Pros. [Aside] Praise in departing. Fran. They vanish'd strangely. Seb. No matter, since They have left their viands behind ; for we have stomachs. 41 Will't please you taste of what is here ? Alon. Not I. Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys. Who would believe that there were moun- taineers Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now we find Each putter-out of five for one will bring us Good warrant of. Alon. I will stand to and feed, Although my last : no matter, since I feel The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, 51 Stand to and do as we. Thtinder and lightning. Enter Ariei>, like a harpy ; claps his 7vings upon the table ; a?id, with a iptaint device^ the banquet vanishes. Ari. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up you ; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour men hang and drown Their proper selves. [Alon. , Seb. , etc. draw their s7uords. You fools ! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate : the elements, 61 Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemockM- at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume : my fellow- ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths And will not be uplifted. But remember — For that's my business to you — that you three 24 S66r 8s ^E TEMPEST ACT IV From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him and his innocent child : for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me Lingering perdition, worse than any death Can be at once, shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from — Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 8o Upon your heads — is nothing but heart- sorrow And a clear life ensuing. He vanishes in thimder ; then, to soft music, enter the Shapes agaiti, and dance, with ffiocks and fuoivs, and carry- ing out the table. Pros. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done. My high charms work And these mine enemies are all knit up In their distractions ; they now are in my power ; 90 And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd, And his and mine loved darling. \Exit above. Con. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand you In this strange stare ? Alon. O, it is monstrous, monstrous ! Methought the billows spoke and told me of it ; The winds- did sing it to me, and the thunder. That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pro- nounced The name of Prosper : it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and I '11 seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded loi And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. Seb. But one fiend at a time, I'll fight their legions o'er. Aiit. I'll be thy second. \Exetint Seb. and Ant. Gon. All three of them are desperate : their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do be- seech you That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly And hinder them from what this ecstasy May now provoke them to. Adr. Follow, I pray you. \Exeiint. ACT IV. Scene I. Before Prospero's cell. Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. Pi'os. If I have too austerely punish'd you. Your compensation makes amends, for I Have given you here a thrid of mine own life, Or that for which I live ; who once again I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me that I boast her off. For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise 10 And make it halt behind her. Per. I do believe it Against an oracle. Pros. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition SCENE I THE TEMPEST 25 Worthily purchased, take my daughter : but If thou dost break her virgin -knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister'd, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow; but barren hate, Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly 21 That you shall hate it both : therefore take heed. As Hymen's lamps shall light you. Per. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue and long life, W^ith such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den. The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day's celebration When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, 30 Or Night kept chain'd below. Pros. Fairly spoke. Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own. What, Ariel ! my industrious servant, Ariel ! Enter Ariel. Ari. What would my potent master ? here I am. Pros. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Did worthily perform ; and I must use you In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee power, here to this place : Incite them to quick motion ; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art : it is my promise, And they expect it from me. Ari. Presently ? Pros. Ay, with a twink. Ari. Before you can say ' come ' and ' go, ' And breathe twice and cry ' so, so,' Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, master ? no ? Pros. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call. Ari. Well, I conceive. \Exit. Pros. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance 5 1 Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i' the blood : be more abste- mious. Or else, good night your vow ! Fer. I warrant you, sir; The white cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. Pros. Well. Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary, Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly ! No tongue ! all eyes ! be silent. \Soft imisic. Enter Iris. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 60 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease ; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep. And fiat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims. Which spongy April at thy hest betrims. To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom -groves. Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves. Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; And thy sea -marge, sterile and rocky - hard, Where thou thyself dost air; — the queen o' the sky, 70 Whose watery arch and messenger am I, Bids thee leave these, and with her sove- reign grace. Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain : Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 26 THE TEMPEST ACT IV Enter Ceres. Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Diffusest honey -drops, refreshing showers, And with each end of thy bhie bow dost crown 80 My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down. Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy queen Summon'd me hither, to this short -grass'd green ? Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the blest lovers. Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen ? Since they did plot The means that dusky Dis my daughter got. Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company I have forsworn. 91 Iris. Of her society Be not afraid : I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her son Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed -right shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; Mars's hot minion is return'd again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows. Swears he will shoot no more but play with sparrows 100 And be a boy right out. Cer. High'st queen of state. Great Juno, comes; Hvnow her by her gait. Enter ]\i^Q>. Jnno. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with me To bless this twain, that they may pros- perous be And honour'd in their issue. [ They sing- Jtino. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing. Hourly joys be still upon you ! Juno sings her blessings on you. Cer. Earth's increase, foison plenty, no Barns and garners never empty. Vines with clustering bunchesgrow- ing. Plants with goodly burthen bowing; Spring come to you at the farthest In the very end of harvest ! Scarcity and want shall shun you ; Ceres' blessing so is on you. Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold To think these spirits ? Pros. Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines call'd to enact My present fancies. Fer. Let me live here ever ; So rare a wonder'd father and a wife Makes this place Paradise. [Jnno and Ceres ivhisper, and send Iris on employment. Pros. Sweet, now, silence ! Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; There's something else to do: hush, and be mute. Or else our spell is marr'd. Ii'is. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks, W^ith your sedged crowns and ever-harm- less looks, Leave your crisp channels and on this green land 130 Answer your summons; Juno does com- mand : Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate A contract of true love ; be not too late. Enter certain Nyviplis. You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow and be merry: Make holiday ; your I'ye-straw hats put on And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. SCENE T THE TEMPEST 27 ■^ Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they join with the Nymphs in a grace- ful dance ; towards the end wJiereof Prospero starts suddenly, attd speaks ; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. Pros. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban and his confederates Against my life : the minute of their plot Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done ! avoid ; no more ! Per. This is strange : your father 's in some passion That works him strongly. Ahr. Never till this day vSaw I him touch'd with anger so dis- temper'd. Pros. You do look, my son, in a moved sort. As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: 150 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces. The solemn temples, the great globe itself. Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd ; Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled : Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 1 60 If you be pleased, retire into my cell And there repose : a turn or two I '11 walk, To still my beating mind. Per. Mir. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. Pros. Come with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel : come. Enter Ariel. Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What 's thy pleasure ? Pros. Spirit, We must prepare to meet with Caliban. Ari. Ay, my commander : when I pre- sented Ceres, I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd Lest I might anger thee. Pros. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? 170 Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot v/ith drinking; So full of valour that they smote the air For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor ; At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses As they smelt music : so I charm'd their ears That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns, 180 Which enter'd their frail shins : at last I left them r the filthy -mantled pool beyond your cell. There dancing up to the chins, that the fovd lake O'erstunk their feet. Pros. This was well done, my bird. Thy shape invisible retain thou still : The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither, P'or stale to catch these thieves. Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. Pros. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains. Humanely taken, all, all lost, cjuite lost ; And as with age his body uglier grows, vSo his mind cankers. T will plague them all. Even to roaring. 28 THE TEMPEST ACT IV Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glisteri7ig apparel, etc. Come, hang them on this line. Prospero and Ariel remain^ invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all zuet. Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. Ste. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us. Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse - piss ; at which my nose is in great indig- nation. 200 Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, mon- ster? If I should take a displeasure against you, look you, — T7-in. Thou wert but a lost monster. Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I '11 bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance : therefore speak softly. All's hush'd as midnight yet. Tritt. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an in- finite loss. 210 Trin. That's more to me than my wetting : yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour. Cal. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou here, This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker. Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. 220 Trin. O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy Stephano ! look what a wardrobe here is for thee ! Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. TjHn. O, ho, monster ! we know what belongs to a frippery. O king Stephano ! Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have that gown. Trin. Thy grace shall have it. Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you mean 230 To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone And do the murder first : if he awake. From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches. Make us strange stuff. Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin under the line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair and prove a bald jerkin. Trin. Do, do : we steal by line and level, an't like your grace. 240 Ste. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't: wit shall not go unre- warded while I am king of this country. ' wSteal by line and level ' is an excellent pass of pate; there's another garment for't. Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. Cal. I will have none on't: we shall lose our time. And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes With foreheads villanous low. 250 Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers : help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my king- dom : go to, carry this. Trin. And this. Ste. Ay, and this. A noise of Jiuntcrs heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and honnds, and Jmnt them about, Prospero and Ariel setting them on. Pros. Hey, Mountain, hey ! Ari. Silver ! there it goes, Silver \ Pros. Fury, Fury ! there. Tyrant, there ! hark ! hark ! \Cal., Ste., and Trin. are driven out. SCENE I THE TEMPEST 29 Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them Than pard or cat o' mountain. Ai'i. Hark, they roar ! Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little Follow, and do me service. \Exetini. ACT V. Scene L Befoj-e Prospero's cell. Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. Pros. Now does my project gather to a head : My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time Goes upright with his carriage. Plow's the day? Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord. You said our work should cease. Pros. I did say so, When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit. How fares the king and 's followers ? Ari. Confined together In the same fashion as you gave in charge. Just as you left them ; all prisoners, sir. In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; 10 They cannot budge till your release. The king. His brother and yours, abide all three distracted And the remainder mourning over them. Brimful of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly Him that you term'd, sir, ' The good old lord, Gonzalo;' His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em That if you now beheld them, your affec- tions Would become tender. Pros. Dost thou think so, spirit ? At'i. Mine would, sir, were I human. Pros. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 21 Of their afflictions, and shall not myself. One of their kind, that relish all as sharply. Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art ? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick. Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury Do I take part : the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent. The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel : 30 My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, x\nd they shall be themselves. Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. \Exil. Pros. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make. Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid, 40 Weak masters though ye be, I have be- dimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the muti- nous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak 30 THE TEMPEST ACT V With his own l)()lt ; the strong-based promontory Have I made shake and l)y the spurs phick'd up The pine and eedar : graves at my com- mand Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic 50 I here abjure, and, when I have required Some heavenly music, which even now I do. To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I '11 break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book. [^Solemn vutsic. Re-enter Ariel before : then Alonso, ivith a frantic gesture, attended by GoNZALO ; wSebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and Francisco : they all enter the circle ivhich Prospero had made, and there stand charmed ; which Prospero observing, speaks : A solemn air and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand, 60 For you are spell -stopp'd. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly drops. The charm dis- solves apace, And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, My true preserver, and a loyal sir To him thou foUovv'st ! I will pay thy graces 70 Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. Tht)u art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood. You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian, Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong. Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee. Unnatural though thou art. Their under- standing Begins to swell, and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 81 That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them That yet looks on me, or would know me : Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell : I will disease me, and myself present As I was sometime Milan : quickly, spirit ; Thou shalt ere long be free. Ariel sings and helps to attire him. Where the bee sucks, there suck I : In a cowslip's bell I lie ; There I couch when owls do cry. 90 On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee ; But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : There shalt thou find the mariners asleep Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain Being awake, enforce them to this place. And presently, I prithee. 101 Ari. I drink the air before me, and return Or ere your pulse twice beat. \^Exil. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement Inhabits here : some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country ! Pros, Behold, sir king, The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : SCENE I THE TEMPEST 31 For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ; And to thee and thy company I bid no A hearty welcome. Alon. Whether thou be'st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse Beats as of flesh and l)lood; and, since I saw thee. The affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me : this must crave, An if this be at all, a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero Be living and be here ? Pros. First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot 121 Be measured or confined. Gon. Whether this be Or be not, I'll not swear. Pros. You do yet taste Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all ! \Aside to Seb. and Ant.\ But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you And justify you traitors : at this time I will tell no tales. Seb. [Aside] The devil speaks in him. Pros. No. For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 130 Would even infect my mouth, I do for- give • Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know, Thou must restore. A/on. If thou be'st Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation ; How thou hast met us here, who three hours since W^ere wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost — How sharp the point of this remembrance is!— My dear son Ferdinand. Pros. I am woe for't, sir. A/oji. Irreparable is the loss, and patience 140 Says it is past her cure. Pros. I rather think You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace For the like loss I have her sovereign aid And rest myself content. A/on. You the like loss ! Pros. As great to me as late; and, supportable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you, for I Have lost my daughter. A/o7z. A daughter ? O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 150 Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter? Pros. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire That they devour their reason and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain That I am Prospero and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most strangely 160 Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed. To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; For 'tis a chronicle of day by day. Not a relation for a breakfast nor Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 32 THE TEMPEST ACT V This cell 's my court : here have I few attendants And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me _ again,^ I will requite you with as good a thing ; At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye 170 As much as me my dukedom. Here Prospero ^/jror/^?-^- Ferdinand aiid Miranda playing at chess. Mir. Sweet lord, you play me false. Fer. No, my dear'st love, I would not for the world. Mir. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, And I would call it fair play. Alon. If this prove A vision of the Island, one dear son Shall I twice lose. Seh. A most high miracle ! Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; I have cursed them without cause. S^Kneels. Alon. Now all the blessings Of a glad father compass thee about ! 180 Arise, and say how thou camest here. Mir. O, wonder ! How many goodly creatures are there here ! How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, That has such people in 't ! Pros. 'Tis new to thee. Alon. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play ? Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. And brought us thus together ? E'er. Sir, she is mortal ; But by immortal Providence she 's mine : I chose her when I could not ask my father 190 For his advice, nor thought I had one. She Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have heard renown, But never saw before ; of whom I have Received a second life ; and second father This lady makes him to me. Alon. I am hers : But, O, how oddly will it sound that I Must ask my child forgiveness ! Pros. There, sir, stop : Let us not burthen our remembrance with A heaviness that's gone. Gon. I have inly wept. Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, 201 And on this couple drop a blessed crown I For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way Which brought us hither. Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo ! Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice Beyond a common joy, and set it down With gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom 211 In a poor isle and all of us ourselves When no man was his own. Alon. [7'o Fer. and Mir.'\ Give me your hands : Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart That doth not wish you joy ! Gon. Be it so ! Amen ! Re-enter Ariel, 7vith the Master and Boatswain aniazedly following. O, look, sir, look, sir ! here is more of us : I prophesied, if a gallows were on land. This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy. That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ? Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? 220 Boats. The best news is, that w"e have safely found Our king and company; the next, our ship — RCKNE I THE TEMPEST 33 Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split — Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when We first put out to sea. Ari. [Aside to Pros. 'I Sir, all this ser- vice Have I done since I went. Pros. [Aside to Ari.] My tricksy spirit ! A/o7i. These are not natural events ; they strengthen From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither ? Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I 'Id strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 230 And — how we know not — all clapp'd under hatches ; Where but even now with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains. And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awaked ; straightway, at liberty; Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master Capering to eye her : on a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them And were brought moping hither. Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Was't well done? Pros. [Aside to Ari.] Bravely, my dili- gence. Thou shalt be free. 241 Aloit. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of: some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Pros. Sir, my liege. Dp not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure W^hich shall be shortly, single I '11 resolve you. Which to you shall seem probable, of every These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful 250 VOL. I. And think of each thing well. [Aside to Ari.] Come hither, spirit : Set Caliban and his companions free; Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my gracious sir ? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not. Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed ! 261 How fine my master is ! I am afraid He will chastise me. Seb. Ha, ha ! What things are these, my lord Antonio ? Will money buy 'em ? Ant. Very like ; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Pros. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords. Then say if they be true. This mis- shapen knave. His mother was a witch, and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 270 And deal in her command without her power. These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil — For he's a bastard one — had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of dark- ness I Acknowledge mine. Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ? Seb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? D 34 THE TEMPEST ACT V Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em ? 280 How earnest thou in this pickle? Trhi. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ! Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Pros. You 'Id be king o' the isle, sirrah ? Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Aloti. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on. \^Pohiting to Caliban. Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his manners 290 As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell ; Take with you your companions ; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter And seek for grace. What a thrice- double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god And worship this dull fool ! Pros. Goto; away! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Seb. Or stole it, rather. \Exeitnt Cal., Ste., and Trin. Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your train 300 To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night ; which, part of it, I'll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away ; the story of my life And the particular accidents gone by Since I came to this isle : and in the morn I'll bring you to your ship and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-beloved solemnized; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. Alon. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. Pros. I'll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales And sail so expeditious that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. {^Aside to An'.] My Ariel, chick. That is thy charge : then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well ! Please you, draw near. [Exetint. EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. Now my charms are all o'erthrown. And what strength I have's mine own. Which is most faint : now, 'tis true, /I must be here confined by you, "^ Or sent to Naples. Let me not, N Since I have my dukedom got i^^^sAnd pardon'd the deceiver, dwell ^v. In this bare island by your spell ; ■^ But release me from my bands ^^With the help of your good hands : 10 V Gentle breath of yours my sails x Must fill, or else my project fails, ^Which was to please. Now I want ^ Spirits to enforce, art to enchant, ^ And my ending is despair, '^Unless I be relieved by prayer, Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. 20 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA DRAMATIS PERSONS. the two Gentlemen. Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. Valentine, Proteus, Antonio, Father to Proteus, Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. Egl amour. Agent for Silvia in her escape. Host, where Julia lodges. Servants, Outlaws, with Valentine. Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. Launce, the like to Proteus. Panthino, Servant to Antonio. Julia, beloved of Proteus. Silvia, beloved of Valentine. Lucetta, waiting-woman to Juha. Musicians. Scene: Verona; Milan; the froiitiers of Mantua. ACT I. Scene I. Verona. An open place. Enter Valentine and Proteus. Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus : Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. Were't not affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad Than, living dully sluggardized at home. Wear out thy youth with shapeless idle- ness. But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein, Even as I would when I to love begin. lo Pro. Wilt thou be gone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu ! Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest Some rare note -worthy object in thy travel : Wish me partaker in thy happiness When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy danger, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. Val. And on a love-book pray for my success ? Pro. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee. 20 Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love : How young Leander cross'd the Helle- spont. Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love; For he was more than over shoes in love. Val. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love. And yet you never swum the Hellespont. P7'o. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. Pro. What? Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; Coy looks with heart -sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth 30 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 36 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA ACT I If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ; If lost, why then a grievous labour won; However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished. Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at : I am not Love. Val. Love is your master, for he masters you : And he that is so yoked by a fool, 40 Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweet- est bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow. Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud. Losing his verdure even in the prime And all the fair effects of future hopes. 50 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee That art a votary to fond desire ? Once more adieu ! my father at the road Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. Pro. And thither will T bring thee, Valentine. Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. To Milan let me hear from thee by letters Of thy success in love and what news else Betideth here in absence of thy friend ; And I likewise will visit thee with mine. Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! 61 Val. As much to you at home ! and so, farewell. \Exit. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : He leaves his friends to dignify them more; I leave myself, my friends and all, for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me. Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. War with good counsel, set the world at nought ; Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. Enter Speed. Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! Saw you my master ? 70 Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, . And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be a while away. Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then and I a sheep ? Tro. I do. Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. 80 Pro. A silly answer and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True; and thy master a shep- herd. Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shall go hard but I '11 prove it by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me : therefore I am no sheep. 91 Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd ; the shepherd for food fol- lows not the sheep : thou for wages followest thy master ; thy master for wages follows not thee : therefore thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry ' baa. ' Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gavest thou my letter to Julia? 100 SCENE I THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 37 Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her. Pro. Nay : in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you. no Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, — a pinfold. Speed, From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she ? Speed. \First Jiodding] Ay. Pro. Nod — Ay — why, that's noddy. Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod : and you ask me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.' 121 Pi'o. And that set together is noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? Speed. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the word ' noddy ' for my pains. 131 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief : what said she ? Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she ? 140 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her ? Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter : and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as hard as steel. Pro. What said she? nothing? 150 Speed. No, not so much as ' Take this for thy pains.' To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master. Pj'O. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck. Which cannot perish having thee aboard. Being destined to a drier death on shore. \_Exit Speed. I must go send some better messenger : I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 160 Receiving them from such a worthless post. {^Exit. Scene II. The same. Garden of Julia's house. E7iter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love ? Lite. Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully. Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentle- men That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love ? Luc. Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind According to my shallow simple skill. Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour ? Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 10 But, were I you, he never should be mine. Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ? Ltic. Well of his wealth ; but of him- self, so so. 3S THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT I Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? Luc. Lord, Lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! Jul. How now ! what means this pas- sion at his name ? Luc. Pardon, dear madam : tis a passing shame That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? 20 Luc. Then thus : of many good I think him best. Jtd. Your reason ? Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ; I think him so because I think him so. Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him ? Ltic. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. Jul. Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me. Ltic. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. Laic. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. 30 Jul. They do not love that do not show their love. Lite. O, they love least that let men know their love. Jul. I would I knew his mind. Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. Jul. ' To Julia. ' Say, from whom ? Ltic. That the contents will show. Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ? Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from Proteus. He would have given it you ; but I, being in the way. Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray. 40 Jul. Now. by my modesty, a goodly broker ! Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? To whisper and conspire against my youth ? Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth And you an officer fit for the place. There, take the paper : see it be return'd ; Or else return no more into my sight. Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. Jul. Will ye be gone ? Luc. That you may ruminate. {Exit. Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter : 50 It were a shame to call her back again And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid, And would not force the letter to my view ! Since maids, in modesty, say ' no ' to that Which they would have the profiferer construe ' ay. ' Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse And presently all humbled kiss the rod ! How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 60 When willingly I would have had her here ! How angerly I taught my brow to frown. When inward joy enforced my heart to smile ! My penance is to call Lucetta back And ask remission for my folly past. What ho ! Lucetta ! Re-enter Lucetta. Luc. What would your ladyship ? Jul. Is 't near dinner-time ? Luc. I would it were. That you might kill your stomach on your meat And not upon your maid. Jul. What is't that you took up so gingerly ? 70 Luc. Nothing. Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then ? Liic. To take a paper up that I let fall. Jul. And is that paper nothing ? Luc. Nothing concerning me. SCENE II THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 39 Jul Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter. Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. 80 Give me a note : your ladyship can set. Jtil. As little by such toys as may be possible. Best sing it to the tune of ' Light o' love. ' Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Jul. Heavy ! belike it hath some burden then ? Luc. Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it. Jul. And why not you ? Luc. I cannot reach so high. Jul. Let 's see your song. How now, minion ! Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out : And yet methinks I do not like this tune. 90 Jul. You do not ? Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. Luc. Nay, now you are too flat And mar the concord with too harsh a descant : There wanteth but a mean to fill your song, Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation ! [ Tears the letter. Go get you gone, and let the papers lie : You would be fingering them, to anger me. 1 01 Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleased To be so anger'd with another letter. \Ii.xlt. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! 0 hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey And kill the bees that yield it with your stings ! I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ ' kind Julia.' Unkind Julia ! As in revenge of thy ingratitude, no 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones. Trampling comtemptuously on thy dis- dain. And here is writ ' love- wounded Proteus.' Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd ; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. Put twice or thrice was ' Proteus ' written down. Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away Till I have found each letter in the letter, Except mine own name : that some whirlwind bear 120 Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock And throw it thence into the raging sea ! Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, ' Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia:' that I'll tear away. And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names. Thus will I fold them one upon another : Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Re-enter Lucetta. Luc. Madam, 130 Dinner is ready, and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go. Ltic. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ? Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down : Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 40 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT I Jill. I see you have a month's mind to them. Ltic. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; I see things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come; will't please you go ? \Exeii7it. Scene III. The same. Antonio's house. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Aiit. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ? Tan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him ? Ta7t. He wonder 'd that your lord- ship Would suffer him to spend his youth at home. While other men, of slender reputation. Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; Some to discover islands far away; Some to the studious universities. lo For any or for all these exercises He said that Proteus your son was meet, And did request me to importune you To let him spend his time no more at home. Which would be great impeachment to his age. In having known no travel in his youth. Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Whereon this month I have been hammering. I have consider'd well his loss of time And how he cannot be a perfect man, 20 Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : Experience is by industry achieved And perfected by the swift course of time. Then tell me, whither were I best to send him ? Tan. I think your lordship is not ignorant How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the emperor in his royal court. Ant. I know it well. Tan. 'Twere good, I think, your lord- ship sent him thither : There shall he practise tilts and tourna- ments, 30 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, And be in eye of every exercise Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advised : And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it The execution of it shall make known. Even with the speediest expedition I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. Tan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso With other gentlemen of good esteem 40 Are journeying to salute the emperor And to commend their service to his will. Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go : And, in good time ! now will we break with him. Enter Proteus* Tro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. O, that our fathers would applaud our loves. To seal our happiness with their consents ! O heavenly Julia ! 50 Ant. How now ! what letter are you reading there ? Tro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. Tro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes How happily he lives, how well beloved And daily graced by the emperor; SCENE III THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 41 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish ? 60 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will And not depending on his friendly wish. Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish. Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court : What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. To-morrow be in readiness to go : 70 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : Please you, deliberate a day or two. Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee : No more of stay! to-morrow thou must go. Come on, Panthino : you shall be em- ploy'd To hasten on his expedition. {^Exeunt Ant. and Pan. Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter. Lest he should take exceptions to my love; 81 And with the vantage of mine own excuse liath he excepted most against my love. O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day. Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! Re-enter Panthino. Pan. wSir Proteus, your father calls for you : He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. Pro. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto, 90 And yet a thousand times it answers ' no. ' \_Exennt. ACT IL Scene L Milan. The Duke's J>ataee. Enter Valentine and Speed. Speed. Sir, your glove. Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. Speed. Why, then, this may be yours, for this is but one. Val. Lla ! let me see : ay, give it me, it 's mine : Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! Ah, Silvia, Silvia ! Speed. Madam Silvia ! Madam Silvia ! Val. How now, sirrah ? Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. 10 Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Go to, sir : tell me, do you know Madam Silvia? Speed. She that your worship loves ? Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? Speed. Marry, by these special marks : first, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malecontent ; to relish a love-song, like a robin-red- breast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A B C ; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet ; to watch, like one that fears rob- bing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money : and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? Speed, They are all perceived without yc. 42 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT II Val. Without me ? they cannot. Speed. Without you? nay, that's cer- tain, for, without you were so simple, none else would : but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you and shine through you like the water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a physician to comment on your malady. VaL But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits at supper? Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she, I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 50 Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet knowest her not ? Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir ? Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Val. What dost thou know ? Speed. That she is not so fair as, of you, well favoured. Val. I mean that her beauty is exqui- site, but her favour infinite. 60 Speed. That 's because the one is painted and the other out of all count. Val. How painted ? and how out of count ? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty. Val. How esteemest thou me ? I ac- count of her beauty. Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. Val, How long hath she been de- formed ? 70 Speed. Ever since you loved her. Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful. Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Val. Why? Speed. Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes; or your ov/n eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered ! Val. What should I see then ? 80 Speed. Your own present folly and her passing deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose, and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. Val. Belike, boy, then, you are in love ; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed : I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 90 Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. Speed. And have you ? Val. I have. Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace ! here she comes. Speed. [Aside'] O excellent motion ! O exceeding puppet ! Now will he inter- pret to her. 10 1 EnUr Silvia. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good -morrows. Speed. [Aside] O, give ye good even ! here's a million of manners. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. Speed. [Aside] He should give her in- terest, and she gives it him. Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in But for my duty to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you, gentle servant : 'tis very clerkly done. Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For being ignorant to whom it goes I writ at random, very doubtfully. Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains ? Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write, SCENE I THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA A% Please you command, a thousand times as much; . 120 And yet — Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ; And yet I will not name it ; and yet I care not ; And yet take this again ; and yet I thank you, Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another 'yet.' Va/. What means your ladyship ? do you not like it ? St/. Yes, yes : the lines are very quaintly writ ; But since unwillingly, take them again. Nay, take them. 130 Va/. Madam, they are for you. Si/. Ay, ay : you writ them, sir, at my request ; But I will none of them ; they are for you ; I would have had them writ more mov- ingly. Va/. Please you, I'll write your lady- ship another. Si/. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over. And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. Va/. If it please me, madam, what then? Si/. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour : And so, good morrow, servant. [Ex/L Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, in- visible, 141 As a nose on a man's face, or a weather- cock on a steeple ! My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor. He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better, That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter ? Va/. How now, sir ? what are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 'tis you that have the reason. ,150 Va/. To do what ? Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia. Va/. To whom ? Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure. Va/. What figure ? Speed. By a letter, I should say. Va/. Why, she hath not writ to me ? Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? 160 Va/. No, believe me. Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But did you perceive her earnest ? Va/. She gave me . none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. Va/. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she de- livered, and there an end. Va/. I would it were no worse. Speed. I '11 warrant you, 'tis as well : For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty, 171 Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover. Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover. All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time. Va/. I have dined. Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my vic- tuals and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. \_Exeunt. Scene II. Verona. Julia's house. Enter Proteus a;z^ Julia. Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. Jid. I must, where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will re- turn. Jid. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. 44 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA ACT II Keep this remembrance for thy JuHa's sake. \Giving a ring. Pro. Why, then, we '11 make exchange ; here, take you this. Jtd. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; And when that hour o'erslips me in the day Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mis- chance 1 1 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! My father stays my coming ; answer not ; The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; That tide will stay me longer than I should. Julia, farewell ! [Exit Julia. What, gone without a word ? Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. Enter Pt'lNTHINO. Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pj'o. Go; I come, I come. 20 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. \Exeiint. Scene III. The same. A street. Enter Launce, leading a dog. Lannce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the pro- digious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's coiut. I think Crab my dog be the sourest -natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear : he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog : a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I '11 show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father : no, this left shoe is my father : no, no, this left shoe is my mother : nay, that cannot be so neither : yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father ; a vengeance on't ! there 'tis : now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand : this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the dog : no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog — Oh ! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing : now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping : now should I kiss my father ; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother : O, that she could speak now like a wood woman ! Well, I kiss her ; why, there 'tis ; here 's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister ; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears. Enter Panthino. Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard ! thy master is shipped and thou art to post after with oars. What 's the matter ? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost ; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Pan. What 's the unkindest tide ? Launce. Why, he that 's tied here, Crab, my dog. Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy service, — Why dost thou stop my mouth? 51 LMtaice. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Pan. Where should I lose my tongue ? Launce. In thy tale. Pan. In thy tail ! Lau7tce. Lose the tide, and the voyage. SCENE III THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA 45 and the master, and the service, and the tied ! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs. 60 Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call thee. Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. Pan. Wilt thou go ? Laiince. Well, I will go. {^Exeunt. Scene IV. Milan. The Duk^e.'?, palace. Enter Silvia, Valentine, Thurio, and Speed. Sil. Servant ! Val. Mistress? Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. Speed. Not of you. Val. Of my mistress, then. Speed. 'Twere good you knocked him. lExit. Sil. Servant, you are sad. Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. Seem you that you are not ? 10 Val. Haply I do. Thii. So do counterfeits. Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I that I am not ? Val. Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary ? Val. Your folly. Thu. And how quote you my folly ? Val. I quote it in your jerldn. Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 20 Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How ? Sil. What, angry. Sir Thurio! do you change colour ? Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of chameleon. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than hve in your air. Val. You have said, sir. Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 30 Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, servant ? Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. Val. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers, for it appears, by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more : here comes my father. Enter DuKE. Duke. Now, daughter vSilvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: What say you to a letter from your friends 51 Of much good news ? Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman ? Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth and worthy estimation x\nd not without desert so well reputed. Dtike. Hath he not a son ? Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? 61 Val. I know him as myself; for from our infancy We have conversed and spent our hours together : And though myself have been an idle truant. Omitting the sweet benefit of time To clothe mine age with angel -like per- fection. Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name. Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 46 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT IT His years but young, l)ut his experience old; His head unmellow'd, but his judgement ripe ; 70 And, in a word, for far behind his worth Comes all the praises that I now bestow, He is complete in feature and in mind With all good grace to grace a gentle- man. Dttke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good. He is as worthy for an empress' love As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me, With commendation fromgreat potentates; And here he means to spend his time awhile : 80 I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth. Silvia, I speak to you, and you, sir Thurio ; For Valentine, I need not cite him to it : I will send him hither to you presently. lExit. Val. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike that now she hath en- franchised them 90 Upon some other pawn for fealty. Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and, being blind. How could he see his way to seek out you ? Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Upon a homely object Love can wink. Sil. Have done, have done ; here «. comes the gentleman. Enter Proteus. \Exit Thurio. Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! Mis- tress, I beseech you, 100 Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his wel- come hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, enter- tain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady : but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress. Val. Leave off discourse of disability : Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Pro. My duty will I boast of; nothing else. Til Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed : Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Pro. I'll die on him that says so but yourself. Sil. That you are welcome ? Pro, That you are worthless. Re-enter Thurio. llui. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome : I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; When you have done, we look to hear from you. 120 Pro. We '11 both attend upon your lady- ship. l^Exennt Silvia and Thurio. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? Pro. Your friends are well and have them much commended. Val. And how do yours ? Pro. I left them all in health. Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives your love ? SCENE IV THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 47 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; I know you joy not in a love-discourse. Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : I have done penance for contemning Love, Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 130 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs ; For in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord And hath so humbled me as I confess There is no woe to his correction Nor to his service no such joy on earth. Now no discourse, except it be of love ; Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep, 141 Upon the very naked name of love. Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye. Was this the idol that you worship so ? Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ? Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. Val. Call her divine. Pro. I will not flatter her. Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. P7'o. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills. And I must minister the like to you. 150 Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine. Yet let her be a principality. Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my mistress. Val. Sweet, except not any ; Except thou wilt except against my love. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too : She shall be dignified with this high honour — To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss 160 And, of so great a favour growing proud. Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower And make rough winter everlastingly. Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggard- ism is this ? Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all I can is nothing To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; She is alone. Pro. Then let her alone. Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine own, And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl. The water nectar and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me that I do not dream on thee. Because thou see'st me dote upon my love. My foolish rival, that her father likes Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along, and I must after. For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Pro. But she loves you ? Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd : nay, more, our marriage-hour. With all the cunning manner of our flight, T3etermined of; how I must climb her window, i8i The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber. In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before ; I shall inquire you forth : I must unto the road, to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use. And then I'll presently attend you. Val. Will you make haste ? 190 Pro. I will. \Exit Valentine Even as one heat another heat expels. Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten, fls it mine, or Valentine's praise. Her true perfection, or my false trans- gression. That makes me reasonless to reason thus ? 48 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA ACT II She is fair ; and so is Julia that I love- - That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, Bears no impression of the thing it was. Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold. And that I love him not as I was wont. O, but I love his lady too too much. And that's the reason I love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice, That thus without advice begin to lovelier ! 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason's light ; But when I look on her perfections, 211 There is no reason but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will ; If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Exit. Scene V. The same. A street. Enter Speed and Launce severally. Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, wel- come to Milan ! Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess say ' Welcome ! ' Speed. Come on, you madcap, I '11 to the alehouse with you presently ; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with Madam Julia ? Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him ? Launce. No. Speed. How then? shall he marry her? Latince. No, neither. Speed. What, are they broken ? L^aujice. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 20 Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter with them ? Launce. Marry, thus ; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. Speed. What an ass art thou ! I under- stand thee not. Latince. What a block art thou, that thou canst not ! My staft" understands me. Speed. What thou sayest ? Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff under- stands me. 31 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Launce. Why, stand -under and under- stand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match ? Launce. Ask my dog : if he -say ay, it will ; if he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. Speed. The conclusion is then that it will. Laujtce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest thou, that my master is become a notable lover ? Launce. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how ? Latince. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me. 50 Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy master. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why? Latince. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go ? Speed. At thy service. {Exetmt. Scene VI. The same. The Duke's palace. Enter Proteus. Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be for- sworn ; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much for- sworn ; SCENE VI THE 7' wo GENTLEMEN OE VERONA 49 And even that power which gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury; Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear. 0 sweet - suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! At first I did adore a twinkling star. But now I worship a celestial sun. lo Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken, And he wants wit that wants resolved will To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast pre ferr'd With twenty thousand soul -confirming oaths. 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; But there I leave to love where I should love. Julia I lose and Valentine I lose : If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I by their loss For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend. For love is still most precious in itself; And vSilvia— witness Heaven, that made her fair ! — Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead ; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 30 I cannot now prove constant to myself. Without some treachery used to Valentine. This night he meaneth with a corded ladder To climb celestial Silvia's chamber- win- dow. Myself in counsel, his competitor. Now presently I'll give her father notice Of their disguising and pretended flight ; Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine ; For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter ; But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross 40 VOL. I. By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! Scene VII. Vei-oua. Julia's house. E /iter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; And even in kind love I do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engraved. To lesson me and tell me some good mean How, with my honour, I may imdertake A journey to my loving Proteus. Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long ! Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, II And when the flight is made to one so dear, Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. Luc. Better forbear till Proteus make return. Jul. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food ? Pity the dearth that I have pined in. By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 20 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire. But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jtd. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns. The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; But when his fair course is not hindered, E 50 THE TWO GEN'J'LEMEN OE VERONA ACT III He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, 30 And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then let me go and hinder not my course : I'll be as patient as a gentle stream And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I '11 rest, as after much turmoil A blessed soul doth in Elysium. Liu. But in what habit will you go along ? Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 40 The loose encounters of lascivious men : Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well -reputed page. Lttc. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings With twenty odd -conceited true-love knots. To be fantastic may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your l:>reeches ? Jul. That fits as well as ' Tell me, good my lord, 50 What compass will you wear your farthin- gale ? ' Why even what fashion thou best likest, Lucetta. Laic. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now 's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on, Jul. Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have What thou thinkest meet and is most mannerly. But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me For undertaking so unstaid a journey? 60 I fear me, it will make me scandalized. Luc. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. Jul. Nay, that I will not. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey when you come. No matter who 's displeased when you are gone : I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear : A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears And instances of infinite of love 70 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect ! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth ; His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles. His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, PI is heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him ! Jul. Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong 80 To bear a hard opinion of his truth : Only deserve my love by loving him ; y\nd presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of. To furnish me upon my longing journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, Ivly goods, my lands, my reputation ; Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come, answer not, but to it presently I I am impatient of my tarriance. 90 \_Exeunt. ACT III. Scene I. Milan. The V>\^v:eJ's> palace. Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; We have some secrets to confer about. lExit Thu. SCENE I THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 51 Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with nie ? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; But when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am. My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, 10 This night intends to steal away your daughter : Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know you have determined to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; And should she thus be stol'n away from you. It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows which would press you down, 20 Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ; Which to reqviite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply when they have judged me fast asleep. And oftentimes have purposed to forbid Sir Valentine her company and my court : But fearing lest my jealous aim might err And so unworthily disgrace the man, A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclosed to me. And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this. Knowing that tender youth is soon sug- gested, I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, The key whereof myself have ever kept ; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. Pro. Know, noble lord, they have de- vised a mean How he her chamber-window will ascend And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; For which the youthful lover now is gone And this way comes he with it presently ; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly That my discovery be not aimed at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend. Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming. \_Exit. Enter Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them. Duke. Be they of much import ? Val. The tenour of them doth but signify My health and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; I am to break with thee of some affairs That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 60 'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. Val. I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him? Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen, fro ward. Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lackingduty. Neither regarding that she is my child Nor fearing me as if I were her father ; And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 52 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT III Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her child- like duty, I now am full resolved to take a wife And turn her out to who will take her in : Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower; Forme and my possessions she esteems not. Val. What would your Grace have me to do in this ? * 80 Duke, f There is a lady in Verona here Whom I affect ; but she is nice and coy And nought esteems my aged eloquence : Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor — ■ For long agone I have forgot to court ; Besides, the fashion of the time is changed — How and which way I may bestow myself To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words : Dumb jewels often in their silent kind 90 More than quick words do move a woman's mind. Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her. Send her another ; never give her o'er ; For scorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, ' tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you: If she do chide, ' tis not to have you gone ; For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean ' away! ' loi Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces ; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Duke. But she I mean is promised by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Val. Why, then, I would resort to her by night. no Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe. That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What lets but one may enter at her window ? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground. And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it. 120 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood. Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night ; for Love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I '11 get you such a ladder. Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone : How shall I best convey the ladder thither? Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length. 130 Dttke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ? Val. Ay, my good lord. Duke. Then let me see thy cloak: I '11 get me one of such another length. Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. What letter is this same ? What 's here ? ' To Silvia ' ! And here an engine fit for my proceeding. I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. ]^Reads. ' My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly, 141 SCENE I THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 53 And slaves they are to me that send them flying : O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying ! My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; While I, their king, that hither them importune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, Because myself do want my servants' fortune : I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord would be.' What's here? 150 ' Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee. ' 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. Why, Phaethon, — for thou art Merops' son, — Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car And with thy daring folly burn the world ? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ? Go, base intruder ! overweening slave ! Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, And think my patience, more than thy desert. Is privilege for thy departure hence : 160 Thank me for this more than for all the favours Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee. But if thou linger in my territories Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven ! my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter or thyself. Be gone ! I will not hear thy vain excuse ; But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence. \Exit. Val. And why not death rather than living torment 170 To die is to be Ijanish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment ! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? Unless it be to think that she is by And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale ; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 180 There is no day for me to look upon; She is my essence, and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : Tarry I here, I but attend on death : But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter Proteus and Launce. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Launce. Soho, soho ! Pro. What seest thou ? 190 Latmce. Him we go to find : there 's not a hair on's head but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine ? Val. No. Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? Val. Neither. Lh-o. What then ? Val. Nothing. Lannce. Can nothing speak ? Master, shall I strike ? Pro. Who wouldst thou strike ? 200 Launce. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. Launce. Why, sir, I '11 strike nothing : I pray you, — Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news. So much ofl^ad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine. For they are harsh, untuneable and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead ? Pro. No, Valentine. 210 Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. I lath she forsworn me ? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have for- sworn me. What is your news ? 54 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT III me woe Laiince. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. Pro. That thou art banished — O, that's the news ! — ■ From hence, from Silvia and from thy friend. Val. O, I have fed upon this already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom — Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force — A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them As if but now they waxed pale for woe : But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 230 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chafed him so. When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her. With many bitter threats of biding there. Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear. As ending anthem of my endless dolour. Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, 241 And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; Which, being writ to me, shall be de- liver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 250 The time now serves not to expostulate : Come, I'll convey thee through the city- gate; And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love-affairs. As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thy- self. Regard thy danger, and along with me ! Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia ! Hapless Valentine ! [Exeunt Val. and Pro. Launce. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave : but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love ; yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me ; nor who 'tis I love ; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid ; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water- spaniel ; which is much in a bare Chris- tian. [Pulling out a paper.'X Here is the cate-log of her condition. ' Imprimis : She can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry ; therefore isshebetter than a jade. ' Item : She can milk ; ' look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. Enter Steed. Speed. How now, Signior Launce ! what news with your mastership ? 280 Launce. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea. Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mis- take the word. What news, then, in your paper ? SCENE I THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 55 Latmce. The blackest news that ever thou heardest. Speed. Why, man, how black ? Launce. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. Laiince. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou canst not read. 291 Speed. Thou liest; I can. Latmce. I will try thee. Tell me this : who begot thee ? Speed. Marry, the son of my grand- father. Laiince. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother : this proves that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. Laiince. There ; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed ! 301 Speed. \_Reads\ ' Imprimis : She can milk.' Laiince. Ay, that she can. Speed. ' Item : She brews good ale.' Laiince. And thereof comes the pro- verb : ' Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.' Speed. ' Item : She can sew. ' Laiince. That 's as much as to say. Can she so ? Speed. ' Item : She can knit.' 310 Laiince. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock ? Speed. ' Item : She can wash and scour. ' Launce. A special virtue ; for then slic need not be washed and scoured. Speed. ' Item : She can spin.' Launce. Then may I set the world 011 wheels, when she can spin for her living. Speed. ' Item : She hath many name- less virtues.' 320 Launce. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers and therefore have no names. Speed. ' Here follow her vices. ' Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. Speed. ' Item : She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath.' Launce. Well, that fault maybe mended with a breakfast. Read on. Spjecd. ' Item : She hath a sweet mouth. ' L.aunce. That makes amends for her sour breath. 331 Speed. ' Item : She doth talk in her sleep.' Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. Speed. ' Item : She is slow in words.' L^aunce. O villain, that set this down among her vices ! To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue : I pray thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue. 340 Speed. ' Item : She is proud.' Launce. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. Speed. ' Item : She hath no teeth.' Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. ' Item: She is curst.' L.aunce. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. Speed. ' Item : She will often praise her liquor.' 351 Lainice. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will not, I will ; for good things should be praised. Speed. ' Item : She is too liberal.' Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, foi that's writ down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut : now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. 360 Speed. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.' L.aunce. Stop there ; I '11 have her : she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. Speed. ' Item : She hath more hair than wit,' — Launce. More hair than wit ? It may be ; I '11 prove it. The cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt ; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What 's next ? Speed. 'And more faults than hairs,' — LMunce. That's monstrous: O, that that were out ! 56 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT III Speed. ' And more wealth than faults. ' Laiince. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her : and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible, — Speed. What then ? 380 Launce. Why, then will I tell thee — that thy master stays for thee at the North-gate. Speed. For me ? Launce. For thee ! ay, who art thou ? he hath stayed for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him ? Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? pox of your love-letters ! \Exit. Launce. Now will he be swinged for reading my letter; an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets ! I '11 after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. YEjcit. Scene II. The same. The Duke's palace. Enter Duke and Tiiurio. Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you, Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me most, Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, That I am desperate of obtaining her. Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. Enter Proteus. How now, Sir Proteus ! Is your country- man II According to our proclamation gone ? Pro. Gone, my good lord. Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee — P"or thou hast shown some sign of good desert — Makes me the better to confer with thee. Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace 20 Let me not live to look upon your grace. Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. Pro. I do, my lord. Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will. Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. Diike. Ay, and perversely she per- severs so. What might we do to make the girl forget The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio? Pro. The best way is to slander Valen- tine 31 With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent. Three things that women highly hold in hate. Drike. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken T>y one whom she esteemeth as his friend. Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do : 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, 40 Especially against his very friend. Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Vour slander never can endamage him ; Therefore the office is indifferent. Being entreated to it by your friend. Pro. Vou have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, wShe shall not long continue love to him. But say this weed her love from Valentine, SCENE II THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 57 It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio, Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 51 Lest it should ravel and be good to none, You must provide to bottom it on me ; Which must be done by praising me as much As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind. Because we know, on Valentine's report. You are already Love's firm votary And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. Upon this warrant shall you have access Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; Where you may temper her by your per- suasion To hate young Valentine and love my friend. Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : But you. Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; You must lay lime to tangle her desires By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Should be full -fraught with serviceable vows. 70 Duke. Ay, Much is the force of heaven -bred poesy. Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity : For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. Make tigers tame and huge leviathans 80 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire-lamenting elegies, Visit by night your lady's chamber- window With some sweet concert ; to their instru- ments Tune a deploring dump : the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet -complaining grievance. This, or else nothing, will inherit her. Diike. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. Tim. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice. Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction- giver, 90 Let us into the city presently To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. I have a sonnet that will serve the turn To give the onset to thy good advice. Duke. About it, gentlemen ! Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper. And afterward determine our proceedings. Duke. Even now about it ! I will pardon you. {Exeunt. ACT IV. Scene I. The froutiei's of Mantua. A forest. Enter certain Outlaws. Elrst Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. Sec. Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter Valentine and Speed. Third Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye : If not, we'll make you sit and rifle you. Speed. Sir, we are undone ; these are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much. Val. My friends, — First Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies. Sec. Out. Peace! we'll hear him. Third Out. Ay, by my beard, will we, for he's a proper man. 10 Val. Then know that I have little wealth to lose : A man I am cross'd with adversity ; My riches are these poor habiliments, 58 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA ACT n- Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have. Sec. Out. Whither travel you? Val. To Verona. Fi7'st Out. Whence came you? Val. From Milan. Third Out. Have you long sojourned there? 20 Val. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. First Out. What, were you banish'd thence? Val. I was. Sec. Out. For what offence? Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse : I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; But yet I slew him manfully in fight. Without false vantage or base treachery. First Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 30 But were you banish'd for so small a fault? Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. Sec. Out. Have you the tongues ? Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy, Or else I often had been miserable. Third Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction ! First Out. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. Speed. Master, be one of them ; it 's an honourable kind of thievery. 40 Val. Peace, villain ! Sec. Out, Tell us this : have you any thing to take to ? Val. Nothing but my fortune. Thii'd Out. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, Sv.ch as the fury of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of awful men : Myself was from Verona banished For practising to steal away a lady. An heir, and near allied unto the duke. Sec. Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, 50 Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. First Otit. And I for such like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose — for we cite our faults. That they may hold excused our lawless lives ; And partly, seeing you are beautified With goodly shape and by your own report A linguist and a man of such perfection As we do in our quality much want — Sec. Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man. Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : Are you content to be our general? 6t To make a virtue of necessity And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? Third Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our consort ? Say ay, and be the captain of us all : We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee. Love thee as our commander and our king. First Out. But if thou scorn our court- esy, thou diest. Sec. Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer' d. Val. I take your offer and will live with you, 70 Provided that you do no outrages On silly women or poor passengers. Third Out. No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews. And show thee all the treasure we have _ got ; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [Exeunt. Scene II. Milan. Outside the Duke's palace, U7idcr Silvia's chamber. Enter Proteus. Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Under the colour of commending him, I have access my own love to prefer : But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. SCENE IT THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 59 When I protest true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; When to her beauty I commend my vows, She bids me think how I have been for- sworn lO In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved : And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love. The more it grows and fawneth on her still. But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window. And give some evening music to her ear. Enter Thurio and Musicians. Thu. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us ? Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio : for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go, Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 21 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. Thu. Who? Silvia? /Vnes one 7oay, and steals away a hoy in green ; Slen der another u>ay, and takes off a hoy in -iuhite ; and Fenton conies, and steals away Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of htinting is Jieard within. All the Fairiesriinaway. Falstaff pulls off his bucJi's head, and rises. Enter Page, P'ord, Mistress Page and Mistress Ford. Page. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now : Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? Mrs. Page. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher. Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? no tSee you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes Become the forest better than the town ? Foi'd. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns, Master Brook : and. Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck -basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be paid to Master Brook ; his horses are arrested for it, Master Brook. Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could ne\'er meet. I will never SCENE V THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR to7 take you for my love again; but I will always count you my deer. Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. Ford. Ay, and an ox too : both tlie proofs are extant. Fal. And these are not fairies ? I was three or four times in the thought they were not fairies : and yet the guilti- ness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill employment ! Evans. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Evans. And leave your jealousies too, I pray you. 140 Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'erreaching as this ? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too ? shall I have a coxcomb of frize ? 'Tis time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. Evans. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all putter. Fal. ' Seese ' and ' putter ' ! have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English ? This is enough to be the decay of lust and late- t. walking through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight ? Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 1 60 Page. Old, cold, withered and of in- tolerable entrails ? Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? Page. And as poor as Job ? Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? Evans. And given to fornications, and to taverns and sack and wine and methe- glins, and to drinkings and swearings and starings, pribbles and prabbles ? Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me ; use me as you will. Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pandar : over and above that you have suffered, I think to repay that money will be a biting afflic- tion. Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee : tell her Master Slender hath married her daughter. Mrs. Page. [^jr?V/^] Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this. Doctor Caius' wife. Enter Slender. Slen. Whoa, ho ! ho, father Page ! Page. Son, how now ! how now, son ! have you dispatched ? Slen. Dispatched ! I '11 make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else ! Page. Of what, son ? Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir! — and 'tis a post- master's boy. Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. 201 Slen. What need you tell me that, ? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all he io8 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR ACT V was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how you should know my daughter by her garments ? Slen. I went to her in white, and cried 'mum,' and she cried 'budget,' as Anne and I had appointed ; and yet it was not Anne, but a postmaster's boy. Airs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew of your purpose ; turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married. Enter Cm us. Cains. Vere is Mistress Page ? By gar, I am cozened : I ha' married un gar9on, a boy ; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened. 220 Mrs. Page. Why, did you lake her in green ? Cains. Ay, l)y gar, and 'tis a boy : by gar, I'll raise all Windsor. \_Exit. Ford. This is strange. W^ho hath got the right Anne ? Page. My heart misgives me : here comes Master Fenton. Enter Fenton and Anne Page. How now, Master Fenton ! Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, pardon ! Page. Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master ^Slender ? 231 lilrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, maid ? Fent. You do amaze her : hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shame- fully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since con- tracted, Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy that she hath com- mitted ; And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous title. Since therein she doth evitate and shun A thousand irreligious cursed hours. Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. Ford. Stand not amazed ; here is no remedy : In love the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! 250 What cannot be eschew'd must be em- braced. Fal. When night -dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased. Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton, Heaven give you many, many merry days ! Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be so. Sir John, To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; For he to-night shall lie with Mistress Ford. \_Exezint. MEASURE FOR MEASURE DRAMATIS PERSONS. ViNCENTio, the Duke. Angelo, Deputy. ESCALUS, an ancient Lord. Claudio, a young gentleman. Lucio, a fantastic. Two other gentlemen. Provost. Thomas, ) Peter, \ A Justice. Varrius. two friars. Elbow, a simple constable. Froth, a foolish gentleman. PoMPEY, servant to Mistress Overdone. Abhorson, an executioner, Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. Isabella, sister to Claudio. Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Juliet, beloved of Claudio. Francisca, a nun. Mistress Overdone, a bawd. Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants. Scene : Vienna, ACT I. Scene I. An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords and Attendants. Duke. Escalus. Escal. My lord. Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; Since I am put to know that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice My strength can give you : then no more remains, tBut that to your sufficiency .... as your worth is able, And let them work. The nature of our people, lo Our city's institutions, and the terms For common justice, you're as pregnant in As art and practice hath enriched any That we remember. There is our com- mission. From which we would not have you warp. Call hither, I say, bid come before us Angelo. \Exit an Attendant. What figure of us think you he will bear ? For you must know, we have with special soul Elected him our absence to supply. Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, 20 And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power : what think you of it ? Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and hon- our. It is Lord Angelo, Dnke. Look where he comes. Enter Angelo. Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure. Dnke. Angelo, There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belong- ings _ 30 Are not thine own so proper as to waste no MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT T Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch 'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, 40 Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech To one that can my part in him advertise ; Hold therefore, Angelo : — In our remove be thou at full ourself ; Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart : old Escalus, Though first in question, is thy secondary. Take thy commission. Ang. Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure 50 Be stamp'd upon it. Duke. No more evasion : We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick con- dition That it prefers itself and leaves unques- tion'd Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, As time and our concernings shall im- portune, How it goes with us, and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well : To the hopeful execution do I leave you Of your commissions. 61 Ang. Yet give leave, my lord, That we may bring you something on the way. Duke. My haste may not admit it ; Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do With any scruple ; your scope is as mine own. So to enforce or qualify the laws As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand : I '11 privily away. I love the people. But do not like to stage me to their eyes : Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and Aves vehement ; Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! Escal. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness ! Duke. I thank you. Fare you well. [^Exit. Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place : A power I have, but of what strength and nature 80 I am not yet instructed. Ang. 'Tis so with me. Let us with- draw together. And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. Escal. I '11 wait upon your honour. [Exennl Scene H. A street. Enter Lucio ajtd two Gentlemen. Lucio. If the duke with the other dukes come not to composition with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the king. First Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of Hungary's ! Sec. Gent. Amen. Lucio. Thou concludest like the sancti- monious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped one out of the table. Sec. Gent. ' Thou shalt not steal'? 10 Lucio. Ay, that he razed. First Gent. Why, 'twas a command- ment to command the captain and all the rest from their functions : they put SCENE II MEASURE FOR MEASURE III forth to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace. Sec. Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. Lticio. I believe thee ; for I think thou never wast where grace was said. 20 Sec. Getit. No ? a dozen times at least. First Gent. What, in metre ? Lttcio. In any proportion or in any language. F'irst Gent. I think, or in any religion. Lticio. Ay, why not ? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy : as, for ex- ample, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. First Gent. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us. Litcio. I grant ; as there may between the lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. 31 First Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art good velvet; thou'rt a three -piled piece, I warrant thee : I had as lief be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now ? Lticio. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health ; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. First Gent. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not ? 40 Sec. Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free. Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes ! I have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to— Sec. Gent. To what, I pray ? Lucio. Judge. Sec. Gent. To three thousand dolours a year. 50 First GcJtt. Ay, and more. Lucio. A French crown more. First Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me ; but thou art full of error; I am sound. Lucio. Nay, not as one would say. healthy ; but so sound as things that are hollow : thy bones are hollow ; impiety has made a feast of thee. Enter Mistress Overdone. First Gent. How now ! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica ? Mrs. Ov. Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried to prison was worth five thousand of you all. Sec. Gent. Who 's that, I pray thee ? Mrs. Ov. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. First Gent. Claudio to prison ? 'tis not so, Mrs. Ov. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw him carried away ; and, which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off. 70 Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of this ? Mrs. Ov. I am too sure of it : and it is for getting Madam Julietta with child. Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise- keeping. Sec. Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose. First Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation. 81 Lucio. Away ! let's go learn the truth of it. \^Exeunt Lucio mid Gentlemen. Mrs. Ov. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows and what with poverty, I am custom -shrunk. Enter Pompey. How now ! what 's the news with you ? Pom. Yonder man is carried to prison. ALrs. Ov. Well ; what has he done ? Pom. A woman. ALrs. Ov. But what's his offence ? 90 Pom. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. Mrs. Ov. What, is there a maid with child by him ? Pom. No, but there's a woman with 112 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT I maid by him. You have not heard of the proclamation, have you ? Mrs. Ov. What proclamation, man ? Pom, All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down. Mrs. Ov. And what shall become of those in the city ? loi Foin. They shall stand for seed : they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. Jllrs. Ov. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down ? Pom. To the ground, mistress. Airs. Ov. Why, here's a change in- deed in the commonwealth ! What shall become of me ? Pof)i. Come ; fear not you : good counsellors lack no clients : though you change your place, you need not change your trade; I'll be your tapster still. Courage ! there will be pity taken on you : you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. Airs. Ov. What 's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw. Pof/i. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison; and there's Madam Juliet. [Exe/iiiL Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers. Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world? 120 Bear me to prison, where I am com- mitted. Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, But from Lord Angelo by special charge, Cland. Thus can the demigod Author- ity Make us pay down for our offence by weight The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will ; On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. Re-enter Lucio and txoo Gentlemen. Lncio. Why, how now, Claudio ! whence comes this restraint ? Clmid. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty : As surfeit is the father of much fast, 130 So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pur, sue, Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, A thirsty evil ; and when we drink -we die. Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors : and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy offence, Claudio? Claud. What but to speak of would offend again. 140 Lticio. What, is 't murder ? Cland. No. Liicio. Lechery ? Claiid. Call it so. Prov. Away, sir ! you must go. Claud. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you. Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd after ? Clatid. Thus stands it with me : upon a true contract I got possession of Julietta's bed : 150 You know the lady; she is fast my wife. Save that we do the denunciation lack Of outward order : this we came not to, Only for propagation of a dower Remaining in the coffer of her friends, From whom we thought it meet to hide our love Till time had made them for us. But it chances The stealth of our most mutual entertain- ment With character too gross is writ on Juliet. Lucio. With child, perhaps ? Claud. Unhappily, even so. And the new deputy now for the duke — Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness. Or whether that the body public be A horse whereon the governor doth ride. Who, newly in the seat, that it may know SCENE II MEASURE FOR MEASURE 113 lie can command, lets it straight feel tlie spur ; Whether the tyranny l)e in his place, Or in his eminence that fills it up, I stagger in :— but this new governor Awakes me all the enrolled penalties 170 Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall So long that nineteen zodiac^i have gone round And none of them been worn; and, for a name, Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me : 'tis surely for a name. Lucio. I warrant it is : and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to him. Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found. 180 I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind ser- vice : This day my sister should the cloister enter And there receive her approbation : Acquaint her with the danger of my state : Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends To the strict deputy ; l)id herself assay him : I have great hope in that ; for in her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, Such as move men ; beside, she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and dis- course, 190 And well she can persuade. Lucio. I pray she may ; as well for the encouragement of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposi- tion, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I '11 to her. Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. Lucio. Within two hours. Claud. Come, officer, away I \^Exeunf. VOL. I. Scene IIL A nionasle^y. Enter DuKE aud Friar Thomas. Jhil'e. No, holy father ; throw away that thought ; llelieve not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a pur- pose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth. Eri. T. May your grace speak of it .'' Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you How I have ever loved the life removed And held in idle price to haunt assem- blies Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 10 I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, A man of stricture and firm abstinence, My absolute power and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, And so it is received. Now, pious sir, Vou will demand of me why I do this ? Fri. T. Gladly, my lord. Duke. We. have strict statutes and most biting laws, The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, 20 Which for this nineteen years we have let slip ; Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch. Only to stick it in their children's sight For terror, not to use, in time the rod Becomes more mock'd than fear'd ; so our decrees, Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 1 114 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT I The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 30 Goes all decorum. Fri. T. It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased : And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd Than in Lord Angelo. Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them For what I bid them do : for we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permissive pass And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father, I have on Angelo imposed the office; 40 Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, +And yet my nature never in the fight To do in slander. And to behold his sway, I will, as 'twere a brother of your order. Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee. Supply me with the habit and instruct me How I may formally in person bear me Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action At our more leisure shall I render you ; Only, this one : Lord Angelo is precise ; Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 51 That his blood flows, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we see. If power change purpose, what our seemers be. \Exetint, Scene IV. A minnery. Enter Isabella and Francisca. Isab. And have you nuns no farther privileges ? Fran. Are not these large enough ? Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as de- siring more ; But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. Lncio. [lV?//i!7i] Ho ! Peace be in this place ! /sab. Who's that which calls? Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; You may, I may not ; you are yet un- sworn. When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men 10 ]^)Ut in the presence of the prioress : Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again ; I pray you, answer him. \Exit. Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is 't that calls ? Enter Lucio. Lncio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me As bring me to the sight of Isabella, A novice of this place and the fair sister To her unhappy brother Claudio ? 20 Isab. Why ' her unhappy brother ' ? let me ask. The rather for I now must make you know I am that Isabella and his sister. Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you : Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. Lsab. Woe me ! for what ? Lncio. For that which, if myself might be his judge. He should receive his punishment in thanks : He hath got his friend with child. Isab. Sir, make me not your story. Lucio. It is true. I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin SCENE IV MEASURE FOR MEASURE IIS With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins so: I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted, By your renouncement an immortal spirit, And to be talk'd with in sincerity, As with a saint. Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. Liicio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus : Your brother and his lover have em- braced : 40 As those that feed grow full, as blossom- ing time That from the seedness the bare fallow brings To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry, Isab. Some one with child by him ? My cousin Juliet ? Lzicio. Is she your cousin ? Isab. Adopted ly ; as school - maids change their names By vain though apt affection. Lnce'o. She it is. Isab. O, let him marry her. Lncio. This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 50 Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand and hope of action : but we do learn By those that know the very nerves of state, His givings-out were of an infinite dis- tance From his true-meant design. Upon his place. And with full line of his authority, Governs Lord Angelo ; a man whose blood Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense, But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 60 With profits of the mind, study and fast. He — to give fear to use and liberty, Which have for long run by the hideous law. As mice by lions — hath pick'd out an act. Under whose heavy sense your brother's life Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it; And follows close the rigour of the statute. To make him an example. All hope is gone, Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer To soften Angelo : and that 's my pith of business 70 'Twixt you and your poor brother. Isab. Doth he so seek his life? Iiicio. Has censured him Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath A warrant for his execution. Isab. Alas ! what poor ability 's in me To do him good ? Liicio. Assay the power you have. Isab. My power ? Alas, I doubt — Ittcio. Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, 80 Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe them. Isab. I'll see what I can do. lncio. But speedily. Isab. I will about it straight; No longer staying but to give the mother Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : Commend me to my brother : soon at night I '11 send him certain word of my success. Iticio. I take my leave of you. Isab. , Good sir, adieu. \Exeii7it. ii6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT 11 ACT II. SCE>JE I. A hall in Anc^elo's house. Enter Angelo, Escalus, and a Justice, Provost, Officers, andotJier KW^wCi'xwX.'-,, behind. Aug. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch and not their terror. Escal. Ay, l:)ut yet Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas. this gentleman. Whom I would save, had a most nol)le father ! Let but your honour know. Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue. That, in the working of your own affec- tions, ID Had time cohered with place or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your blood Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, Whether you had not sometime in your life Err'd in this point which now you censure him. And pull'd the law upon you. Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. I not deny, The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two 20 Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice. That justice seizes : what know the laws That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant. The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't Because we see it ; but what we do not see We tread upon, and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence For I have had such faults ; but rather tell me. When I, that censure him, do so offend. Let mine own judgement pattern out my death, 30 And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. Escal. 1)6 it as your wisdom will. Ang. Where is the provost ? Pro7>. Here, if it like your honour. Aiig. See that Claudio Be executed by nine to-morrow morning: Bring him his confessor, let him be pre-' pared ; For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. \Exit Provost. Escal. [Asidt"] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all ! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : tSome run from brakes of ice, and answer none : And some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Eleow, and Officers ivith Froth and Pompey. Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be good people in a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law : bring them away. Ang. How now, sir ! What's your name? and what's the matter? Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow : I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. 50 Ang. Benefactors? Well; what bene- factors are they? are they not malefactors? Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are : but precise villains they are, that I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. Escal. This comes off well; here's a wise officer. Ang. Go to : what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? why dost thou not speak. Elbow ? 60 Povi. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. Ang. What are you, sir ? SCENE I MEASURE FOR MEASURE 117 Elh. He, sir ! a tapster, sir ; parcel- bawd ; one that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too. Escal. How know you that ? Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour, — 70 Escal. How ? thy wife ? Elb. Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman, — Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. Escal. How dost thou know that, con- stable ? Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. Escal. By the woman's means ? Elb. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means : but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. Pom. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. . Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man; prove it. Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? Pom. Sir, she came in great with child ; and longing, saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes ; sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit- dish, a dish of some three-pence ; your honours have seen such dishes ; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes, — Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish, sir. Pom. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein in the right : but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes ; and having but two in the dish, as I said. Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly ; for, as you know. Master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again. Froth. No, indeed. Pom. Very well ; you being then, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes, — in Froth. Ay, so I did indeed. Potn. Why, very well ; I telling you then, if you be remembered, that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you, — Froth. All this is true. Pom. Why, very well, then, — Escal. Gome, you are a tedious fool : to the purpose. What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to com- plain of? Gome me to what was done to her. Pom. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. Pom. wSir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a year ; whose father died at Hallowmas: was't not at Hallowmas, Master Froth ? Froth. AU-hallond eve. 130 Pom. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir ; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not ? Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room and good for winter. Pom. Why, very well, then ; I hope here be truths. Aug. This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there : I '11 take my leave, 140 And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; Hoping you'll find good cause to whij) them all. Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. \Exit Angela. Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's wife, once more ? ii8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT II Pom. Once, sir ? there was nothing done to her once. Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. Pom. I beseech your honour, ask me. Escal. Well, sir; what did this gentle- man to her? 151 Pom. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good Master Froth, look upon his honour ; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face? Escal. Ay, sir, very well. Pom. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. Escal. Well, I do so. Po7?i. Doth your honour see any harm in his face ? 160 Escal. Why, no. Pom. I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. Good, then ; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm ? I would know that of your honour. Escal. He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it ? Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a re- spected fellow ; and his mistress is a respected woman. Pom. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. Elb. Varlet, thou liest ; thou best, wicked varlet ! the time is yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child. Po?H. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. Escal. Which is the wiser here ? Jus- tice or Iniquity? Is this true? 181 Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal ! I respected with her before I was married to her ! If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your action of slander too. Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff? Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to con- tinue now, thou varlet; thou art to con- tinue. 20 r Escal. W^here were you born, friend ? Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? Froth. Yes, an't please you, sir. Escal. So. What trade are you of, sir? Pom. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. Escal. Your mistress' name ? Pofn. Mistress Overdone. Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband ? 211 Pom. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. Escal. Nine ! Come hither to me. Master Froth, Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters : they will draw you. Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. Froth. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in. Escal. Well, no more of it. Master Froth: farewell. [Exit Froth. ^ Come you hither to me. Master tapster. What 's your name. Master tapster ? Pom. Pompey. Escal. What else ? Pom. Bum, sir. Escal. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you ; so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you not ? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you. Pom. Truly, sir, T am a poor fellow that would live. Escal. How would you live, Pompey? *ICENE I MEASURE FOR MEASURE 119 by being a bawd ? What do you think of the trade, Pompey ? is it a lawful trade ? Pom. If the law would allow it, sir, Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey ; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 241 Po7)i. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of the city ? Escal. No, Pompey. Po7n. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. Escal. There are pretty orders be- ginning, I can tell you : it is but heading and hanging. 250 Pom. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads : if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it after three -pence a bay : if you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. Escal. Thank you, good Pompey ; and, in requital of your prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever ; no, not for dwelling where you do : if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Caesar to you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt : so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well. Pom. I thank your worship for your good counsel : \^Aside\ but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip me ? No, no ; let carman whip his jade : 269 The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. {Exit. Escal. Come hither to me. Master Elbow ; come hither. Master constable. How long have you been in this place of constable ? Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time. You say, seven years together ? Elb. And a half, sir. Escal. Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it ? Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them ; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all. Escal. Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. Elb. To your worship's house, sir? Escal. To my house. Fare you well. \Exit Elbow. What 's o'clock, think you ? 290 Just. Eleven, sir. Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. Jtist. I humbly thank you. Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; But there's no remedy. Just. Lord Angelo is severe. Escal. It is but needful: Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : But yet, — poor Claudio! There is no remedy. Come, sir. {Exeunt. Scene II. Another room in the same. Enter Provost and a Servant. Serv. He's hearing of a cause ; he will come straight : I '11 tell him of you. Prov. Pray you, do. \Exit Servant. I'll know His pleasure ; may be he will relent. Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream ! All sects, all ages smack of this vice ; and he To die for't ! Enter Angelo. Aug. Now, what's the matter, provost ? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? Aug. Did not I tell thee yea ? hadst thou not order ? I20 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT II Why dost thou ask again ? Prov. Lest I might be too rash: Under your good correction, I have seen, lo When, after execution, judgement hath Repented o'er his doom. Ang. Go to ; let that be mine : Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spared. Frov. I crave your honour's pardon. What shall be done, sir, with the groan- ing Juliet ? She's very near her hour. Ang. Dispose of her To some more fitter place, and that with speed. Re-etiter Servant. Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you. Ang. Hath he a sister ? Frov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, 20 And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. Ang. Well, let her be admitted. \Exit Servant. See you the fornicatress be removed : Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ; There shall be order for't. Enter Isabella and Lucio. Frov. God save your honour ! Ang. Stay a little while. [71? Isah.l You 're welcome : what 's your will ? Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. Ang. Well ; what's your suit ? Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor. And most desire should meet the blow of justice; 30 For which I would not plead, but that I must ; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war 'twixt will and will not. Ang. Well; the matter? Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die: I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. Frov. YAside\ Heaven give thee moving graces ! Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ? Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done : Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, 40 And let go by the actor. Isab. O just but severe law ! I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour ! Iticio. [Aside to Isab.'\ Give't not o'er so : to him again, entreat him ; Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown : You are too cold; if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame a tongue desire it : To him, I say ! Isab. Must he needs die ? Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. 50 Ang. I will not do't. Isab. But can you, if you would ? Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him ? Ang. He's sentenced; 'tis too late. Iiicio. [Aside to Isab.] You are too cold. Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again. Well, believe this. No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 60 SCENE II MEASURE FOR MEASURE 121 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's xo\)t. Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does. If he had been as you and you as he, You would have slipt like him ; but he, like you, Would not have l)een so stern. Alii:;. Pray you, be gone. Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency. And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ? No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner. Lucio. [Aside to Isab.'\ Ay, touch him; there's the vein. 70 A7ig. Your brother is a forfeit of the law. And you but waste your words. Isab. Alas, alas ! Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once ; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgement, should But judge you as you are ? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips. Like man new made. Aug. Be you content, fair maid ; It is the law, not I condemn your brother : Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 81 It should be thus with him : he must die to-morrow. Isab. To-morrow! O, that's sudden ! Spare him, spare him ! He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink you ; Who is it that hath died for this offence? There's many have committed it. Iiicio. [Aside to Isab.'] Ay, well said. Aug. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept : 90 Those many had not dared to do that evil, If the first that did the edict infringe Had answer'd for his deed : now 'tis awake, Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, Either new, or by remissness new -con- ceived, And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, Are now to have no successive degrees, But, ere they live, to end. Isab. Yet show some pity. Aug. I show it most of all when I show justice; 100 For then I pity those I do not know. Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; _ And do him right that, answering one foul wrong. Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content. Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence, And he, that suffers. O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. Iiuio. [Aside to Isab. ] That 's well said. Isab. Could great men thunder no As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder ; Nothing but thunder ! Merciful Heaven, Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphur- ous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak Than the soft myrtle : but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority. Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 122 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT II Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 121 As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal. Liicio. [Aside to IsahJ\ O, to him, to him, wench ! he will relent ; He's coming; I perceive't. Prov. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him ! Isad. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them, But in the less foul profanation. Liicio. Thou 'rt i' the right, girl ; more o' that. Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word, 130 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Liicio. [Aside to Isab.'] Art avised o' that ? more on 't. An^. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? Isab. Because authority, though it err like others. Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom ; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know That's like my brother's fault : if it confess A natural guiltiness such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 140 Against my brother's life. Aug. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well. Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. Aug. I will bethink me : come again to-morrow. Isab. Hark how I '11 bribe you : good my lord, turn back. Aug. Plow ! bribe me ? Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. Liicio. [Aside to Isab.] You had marr'd all else. Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold. Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor 15a As fancy values them ; but with true prayers That shall be up at heaven and enter there Ere sun -rise, prayers from preserved souls. From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. Aug. Well; come to me to-morrow. Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Go to ; 'tis well ; away ! Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! Ang. [Aside] Amen : For I am that way going to temptation, Where prayers cross. Isab. At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship ? Ang. At any time 'fore noon. Isab. 'Save your honour ! [Exeunt Isabella^ Liicio, and Provost. Ang. From thee, even from thy virtue ! What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine ? The tempter or the tempted, who sins most ? Ha ! Not she : nor doth she tempt : but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun. Do as the carrion does, not as the flower. Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness ? Having waste ground enough, 170 Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there ? O, fie, fie, fie! What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? Dost thou desire her foully for those things That make her good ? O, let her brother live : Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her, That I desire to hear her speak again, And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on ? SCENE II MEASURE FOR MEASURE 123 0 cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 181 Is that temptation that doth goad us on To sin in loving virtue : never could the strumpet. With all her double vigour, art and nature. Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid Subdues me quite. Ever till now, When men were fond, I smiled and won- der'd how. \Exit. Scene III. A room in a prison. Enter ^ severally, DuKE disguised as a friar, and Provost. Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you are. Prov. I am the provost. What's your will, good friar? Dnke. Bound by my charity and my blest order, 1 come to visit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison. Do me the common right To let me see them and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may minister To them accordingly. Prov. I would do more than that, if more were needful. ^;//^r Juliet. Look, here comes one : a gentlewoman of mine, to Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, Hath blister'd her report : she is with child ; And he that got it, sentenced; a young man More fit to do another such offence Than die for this. Duke. When must he die ? Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. I have provided for you : stay awhile, [ To Juliet. And you shall be conducted. Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry ? Jnl. I do ; and bear the sliame most patiently. 20 Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience. And try your penitence, if it be sound. Or hollowly put on. Jul. I'll gladly learn. Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? Jul. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. Duke. wSo then it seems your most ofifenceful act Was mutually committed ? Jul. Mutually. Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. Jtil. I do confess it, and repent it, father. Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but lest you do repent, 30 As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, Which sorrow is always toward our- selves, not heaven, Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, But as we stand in fear, — Jul. I do repent me, as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy. Duke. There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die to- morrow. And I am going with instruction to him. Grace go with you, Benedicite ! \^Exif. Jul. Must die to-morrow ! O injurious love, 40 That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror ! Prov. 'Tis pity of him. \Exeunt. Scene IV. A room in Angelo's house. Enter Angeto. Aiig. When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words ; 124 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT 11 Whilst iny invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name ; And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied, Is like a good thing, being often read. Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, Wherein — let no man hear me — I take pride, lo Could I with boot change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit. Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood : Let's write good angel on the devil's horn ; 'Tis not the devil's crest. Enter a Servant. How now ! who's there ? Serv. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. Aug. Teach her the way. \Exit Serv.'] O heavens ! Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, 20 Making both it vmable for itself, And dispossessing all my other parts Of necessary fitness ? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air 1 'y which he should revive : and even so The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their un- taught love Must needs appear ofifencc. Enter Isabella. How now, fair maid ? /sab. I am come to know your pleasure . Ajig. That you might know it, would much better please me Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. Isab. Even so. Heaven keep your honour ! Ajig. Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be. As long as you or I : yet he must die. Isal). Under your sentence ? Aug. Yea. Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted That his soul sicken not. 41 Ang. Ha ! fie, these filthy vices ! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made As to put metal in restrained means To make a false one. Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 50 Aug. Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly. Which had you rather, that the most just law Now took your brother's life; or, to re- deem him, Give up your body to such sweet un- cleanness As she that he hath stain'd ? Isab. Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my soul. Aug. I talk not of your soul : our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt. Isab. How say you ? Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that ; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this; 60 SCENE IV MEASURE FOR MEASURE 125 T, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: Might there not be a charity in sin To save this brother's life ? Isab. Please you to do't, !'ll take it as a peril to my soul, [It is no sin at all, but charity. Ang. Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul, [Were equal poise of sin and charity. hah. That I do ])eg his life, if it l)e sin, [eaven let nie bear it ! you granting of my suit, 70 [f that be sin, I '11 make it my morn prayer ^o have it added to the faults of mine, Lnd nothing of your answer. Ang. Nay, but hear me. ''our sense pursues not mine : either you are ignorant, Or seem so craftily; and that's not good. Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, Put graciously to know I am no better. Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 80 Than beauty could, display'd. Put mark me ; To be received plain, I'll speak more gross : Your l^rother is to die. Isab. So. A7ig. And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain. Isab. True. Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,— As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question, — that you, his sister, 90 Finding yourself desired of such a per- son, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place. Could fetch your brother from the man- acles Of the all-building law ; and that there were No earthly mean to save him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer ; \Vhat would you do ? Isab. As much for my poor brother as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, 100 The impression of keen whips I 'Id wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing have been sick for, ere I 'Id yield My body up to shame. Ang. Then must your brother die. Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way : Better it were a brother died at once. Than that a sister, by redeeming him. Should die for ever. Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so? no Isab. Ignomy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses : lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption, Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ; And rather proved the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice. Isab. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean : I something do excuse the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love. Ang. We are all frail. Isab. Else let my brother die, If not a feodary, but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness. A)ig. Nay, women are frail too. Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves ; 126 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT II Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women ! Help Heaven ! men their crea- tion mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail ; For we are soft as our complexions are, And d'edulous to false prints. Am I think it well : And from this testimony of your own sex, — 131 Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames, — let me be bold ; I do arrest your words. Be that you are. That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none; If you be one, as you are well express'd By all external warrants, show it now, By putting on the destined livery. Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord. Let me entreat you speak the former language. 140 Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. Isab. My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for it. Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Isab. I know your virtue hath a license in't. Which seems a little fouler than it is. To pluck on others. Ang. Believe me, on mine honour. My words express my purpose. Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much believed. And most pernicious purpose ! Seeming, seeming! 150 I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for't: Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud What man thou art. Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ? My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the state. Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle in your own report And smell of calumny. I have begun. And now I give my sensual race the rein : 1 60 Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes. That l)anish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will; Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw- out To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you. Say what you can, my false o'er weighs your true, \Exit. Isab. To whom should I complain ? Did I tell this, 171 Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths. That bear in them one and the self-same tongue. Either of condemnation or approof ; Bidding the law make court'sy to theii will; Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite. To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother : Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood. Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour. That, had he twenty heads to tender down 180 On twenty bloody blocks, he 'Id yield them up, Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr'd pollution. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : More than our brother is our chastity. I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request. And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [y^.v.'A Fact hi t ^B ACT III. ^K Scene I. A room in the prison. ^B Enter DUKE disguised as before, H Claudio, and Provost. H Duke. So then you hope of pardon H from Lord Angelo ? H Claiid. The miserable have no other H medicine "But only hope : I've hope to live, and am prepared to die. Ditke. Be absolute for death ; either death or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life : If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habitation, where tliou keep'st, ID Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; For him thou labour 'st by thy flight to shun And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble ; For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep. And that thou oft provokest ; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; P'or thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 20 That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get. And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange ehects, MEASURE FOR MEASURE 127 After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor ; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none ; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins. Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, 31 For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, But, as it were, an after - dinner's sleep. Dreaming on both ; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich. Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear, 40 That makes these odds all even. Claud. I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life : let it come on. Isah. [ Within'] What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good company ! Prov. Who 's there ? come in : the wish deserves a welcome. Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '11 visit you again. Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. Enter Isabella. Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. Duke. Provost, a word with you. 50 Prov, As many as you please. 128 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT III Duke. Brinf^ me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed. [Exeunt Duke a) id Pro7 Fri. P. I know him for a man divine ^ and holy; Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he voujches, misreport your grace. Lucio. My lord, most villanously; believe it. Fii. P. Well, he in time may come to clear himself; 150 ' But at this instant he is sick, my lord. Of a strange fever. Upon his mere re- quest. Being come to knowledge that there was complaint VOL. I. Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither. To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true and false ; and what he with his oath And all probation will make up full clear, Whensoever he's con vented. First, for this woman. To justify this worthy nobleman. So vulgarly and personally accused, 160 Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, Till she herself confess it. Dtike. Good friar, let's hear it. [Isabella is carried off guarded ; and Mariana comes forward. Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? 0 heaven, the vanity of wretched fools ! Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo ; In this I '11 be impartial ; be you judge Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face, and after speak. Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face Until my husband bid me. 170 Duke. What, are you married ? Mari. No, my lord. Duke. Are you a maid? Alari. No, my lord. Duke. A widow, then? Alari. Neither, my lord. Duke. Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife ? Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 180 Duke. Silence that fellow : I would he had some cause To prattle for himself. Lucio. Well, my lord. Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; And I confess oesides I am no maid : 1 have known my husband ; yet my husband Knows not that ever he knew me. Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord : it can be no better. 146 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT V Duke. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too! 191 Liicio. Well, my lord. Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. Ma7'i. Now I come to't, my lord: She that accuses him of fornication, In self- same manner doth accuse my husband, And charges him, my lord, with such a time When I'll depose I had him in mine arms With all the effect of love. Aug. Charges she more than me ? Mari. Not that I know. Dttke. No ? you say your husband. Mai'i. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. Ang. This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face. Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. \Unveiling. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on ; This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belock'd in thine ; this is the body 210 That took away the match from Isabel, And did supply thee at thy garden-house In her imagined person. Dtike, Know you this woman ? Liicio. Carnally, she says. Duke. Sirrah, no more ! Liicio. Enough, my lord. Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this woman : And five years since there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off. Partly for that her promised propor- tions Came short of composition, but in chief For that her re]5utation was disvalued In levity: since which time of five years I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her. Upon my faith and honour. Marl. Noble prince, As there comes light from heaven and words from breath. As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, I am affianced this man's wife as strongly As words could make up vows : and, my good lord. But Tuesday night last gone in's garden- house He knew me as a wife. As this is true, 230 Let me in safety raise me from my knees ; Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument ! Ang. I did but smile till now : Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive These poor informal women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member That sets them on : let me have way, my lord. To find this practice out. Duke. Ay, with my heart; And punish them to your height of pleasure. 240 Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman. Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths, ' Though they would swear down each ! particular saint, \ \^ Were testimonies against his worth and credit That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. There is another friar that set them on; Let him be sent for. SCENE I MEASURE FOR MEASURE 147 Fri. P. Would he were here, my lord ! for he indeed 250 Hath set the women on to this com- plaint : Your provost knows the place where he abides And he may fetch him. Duke. Go do it instantly. \^Exit Provost. And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Do with your injuries as seems you best. In any chastisement : I for a while will leave you; But stir not you till you have well determined Upon these slanderers. 259 Escal. My lord, we'll do it throughly. \Exit Diike. Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? Lticio. ' Cucullus non facit monachum :' honest in nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and enforce them against him : we shall find this friar a notable fellow. Lticio. As any in Vienna, on my word. Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again : I would speak with her. [Exil an Attendant. ^ Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall see how I'll handle her. Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. Escal. Say you ? Lticio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would sooner confess : perchance, publicly, she'll be ashamed. Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. Lticio. That's the way; for women are light at midnight. 281 Re-enter Officers with Isabella ; and Provost with the Duke in his friar'' s habit. Escal. Come on, mistress : here's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. Lticio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with the provost. Escal. In very good time : speak not you to him till we call upon you. Lticio. Mum. Escal. Come, sir : did you set these women on to slander Lord Angelo ? they have confessed you did. 291 Dtik'e. 'Tis false. Escal. How ! know you where you are ? Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the devil Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne ! Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me speak. Escal. The duke's in us ; and we will hear you speak : Look you speak justly. Dtike. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls. Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? 300 Good night to your redress ! Is the duke gone ? Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, Thus to retort your manifest appeal. And put your trial in the villain's mouth Which here you come to accuse. Lticio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar, Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth And in the witness of his proper ear, 310 To call him villain ? and then to glance from him To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice ? Take him hence ; to the rack with him \ We'll touse you 148 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT V Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. What, 'unjust'! Duke. Be not so hot; the (hike Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, Nor here provincial. My business in this state Made me a looker on here in Vienna, Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble 320 Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults, But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop. As much in mock as mark. Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to prison ! Atig. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio ? Is this the man that you did tell us of? Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate : do you know me ? Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke. Lucio. O, did you so ? And do you remember what you said of the duke ? Duke. Most notedly, sir. Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be ? Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke so of him ; and much more, much worse. 341 Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches ? Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love myself. Ang. Hark, how the villain would close now, after his treasonable abuses ! Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with him to prison ! Where is the provost ? Away with him to prison ! lay bolts enough upon him : let him speak no more. Awav with those giglots too, and with the other confederate companion ! Duke. [To Provost] Stay, sir; stay awhile. Ang. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio. Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; foh, sir ! Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you ? Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you ! show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour ! Will't not off? [Fulls off the friar's hood, and discovers the Dtike. Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er madest a duke. 361 First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. Duke. [To Escalus] What you have spoke I pardon : sit you down : We'll borrow place of him. [To Angelo] Sir, by your leave. Hast thou or word, or wit, or impu- dence, That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast. Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 370 And hold no longer out. Ang. O my dread lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible, When I perceive your grace, like power divine. Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, No longer session hold upon my shame, But let my trial be mine own confes- sion : Immediate sentence then and sequent death Is all the grace I beg. Duke. Come hither, Mariana. Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 380 Aug. I was, my lord. SCENE I MEASURE FOR MEASURE 149 Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly. Do you the office, friar ; which con- summate, Return him here again. Go with him, provost. \Excunt Angela , Mariana^ Friar Peter, and Provost. Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour Than at the strangeness of it. Dtike. Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now your prince : as I was then Advertising and holy to your business. Not changing heart with habit, I am still Attorney'd at your service. Isab. O, give me pardon. That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 391 Your unknown sovereignty ! Diike. You are pardon'd, Isabel : And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; And you may marvel why I obscured myself. Labouring to save his life, and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid. It was the swift celerity of his death. Which I did think with slower foot came on, 400 That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him ! That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear : make it your comfort, So happy is your brother. Isab. I do, my lord. Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peter, and Provost. Duke. For this new-married man ap- proaching here. Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother, — Being criminal, in double violation Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach Thereon dependent, for your brother's life, — 411 The very mercy of the law cries out Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!' Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE. Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus mani- fested ; Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage. We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. 420 Away with him ! Alari. O my most gracious lord, I hope you will not mock me with a husband. Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband. Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit ; else im- putation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life And choke your good to come : for his possessions. Although by confiscation they are ours, We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband. Mari. O my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man. 431 Duke. Never crave him ; we are de- finitive. Mari. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling. Duke. You do but lose your labour. Away with him to death \ [To Lucio'\ Now, sir, to you. Mari. O my good lord ! Sweet Isabel, take my part ; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 150 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT V I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. Duke. Against all sense you do im- portune her : Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 440 And take her hence in horror. Mart. Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad : so may my husband. 0 Isabel, will you not lend a knee ? Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. Isab. Most bounteous sir, \Kneeling, Look, if it please you, on this man con- demn'd, As if my brother lived : I partly think A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, 451 Till he did look on me : since it is so, Let him not die. My brother had but justice. In that he did the thing for which he died: For Angelo, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent. And must be buried but as an intent That perish'd by the way : thoughts are no subjects; Intents but merely thoughts. Mart. Merely, my lord. Duke. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say. 460 1 have bethought me of another fault. Provost, how came it Claudio was be- headed At an unusual hour ? Prov. It was commanded so. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ? Frov. No, my good lord ; it was by private message. Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office : Give up your keys. Frov. Pardon me, noble lord : I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; Yet did repent me, after more advice: For testimony whereof, one in the prison, That should by private order else have died, 471 I have reserved alive. Dtike. What's he? Fi'ov. His name is Barnardine. Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. Go fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. \Exit Frovost. Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear' d, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood. And lack of temper'd judgement after- ward. Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure : And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 481 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. Re-enter Provost, with Barnardine, Claudio muffled, «;?^ Juliet. Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? Fj'ov. This, my lord. Diike. There was a friar told me of this man. Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, That apprehends no further than this world, And squarest thy life according. Thou 'rt condemn'd : But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all; And pray thee take this mercy to pro- vide For better times to come. Friar, advise him ; 490 I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that? Frov. This is another prisoner that I saved, Who should have died when Claudio lost his head ; SCENE r MEASURE FOR MEASURE 151 I As like almost to Claudio as himself. [ Un III tiffles Cla tidio. Duke. [To Isabelld\ If he be like your brother, for his sake Is he pardon'd ; and, for your lovely sake, Give me your hand and say you will be mine, He is my brother too : but fitter time for that. By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe; Methinks I see a quickening in his eye. Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours. I find an apt remission in myself; And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. \To Liicio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward. One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; Wherein have I so deserved of you, Tnat you extol me thus ? Liicio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may ; but I had rather it woUid please you I might be whipt. Duke. Whipt first, sir, and hanged after. Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, Is anj woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow, As I hj.ve heard him swear himself there's one Whom he begot with child, let her appear, And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd, Let him be whipt and hang'd. 519 Liicio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your high- ness said even now, I made you a duke : good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold. Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison ; And see our pleasure herein executed. Liicio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging. Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. \Exeunt Officers ivith Lticio. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. 531 Joy to you, Mariana ! Love her, Angelo : I have confess'd her and I know her virtue. Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: There's more behind that is more gratu- late. Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy : We shall employ thee in a worthier place. Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's : The offence pardons itself Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good; _ S4T Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. \Exeunt. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS DRAMATIS PERSON.^ SOLINUS, duke of Ephesus. ^GEON, a merchant of Syracuse. ( twin brothers, Antipholus of Ephesus, ) and sons to Antipholus of Syracuse, ) JEgeon and ( Emilia. ^ r T^ , ( twin brothers, and Dromio of Ephesus, \ ^^ a ,. *v. ^ r r. i attendants on the Dromio of Syracuse, two Antipho]uses. Balthazar, a merchant. Angelo, a goldsmith. Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. First Merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse, Second Merchant, to whom Angelo is a debtor. Pinch, a schoolmaster. Emilia, wife to ^geon, an abbess at Ephesus. Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. LuciANA, her sister. Luce, servant to Adriana. A Courtezan. Scene : Ephesus. ACT I. Scene I. A hall in the Duke's /rt;/«r^. Enter Duke, ^geon, Gaoler, Officers, a7id other Attendants. ^ge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all. Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more ; I am not partial to infringe our laws: The enmity and discord which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke To merchants, our well-dealing country- men, Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods. Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. ID For, since the mortal and intestine jars 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, It hath in solemn synods been decreed. Both by the Syracusians and ourselves. To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : Nay, more. If any born at Ephesus be seen At any Syracusian marts and fairs; Again : if any Syracusian born Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 20 His goods confiscate to the duke's dis- pose, Unless a thousand marks be levied. To quit the penalty and to ransom him. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate. Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ; Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die. ^ge. Yet this my comfort : when your words are done. My woes end likewise with the evening sun, Duke. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from tl:y native home 30 And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. y^ge. A heavier task could not have been imposed SCENE I THE COMED Y OF ERRORS 153 Than I to speak my griefs unspeak- able: Yet, that the world may witness that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. In Syracusa was 1 born, and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me, And by me, had not our hap been bad. With her I lived in joy; our wealth in- creased 40 By prosperous voyages I often made To Epidamnum ; till my factor's death And the great care of goods at random left Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse : From whom my absence was not six months old Before herself, almost at fainting under The pleasing punishment that women bear. Had made provision for her following me And soon and safe arrived where I was. There had she not been long but she be- came 50 A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; And, which was strange, the one so like the other As could not be distinguish'd but by names. That very hour and in the self-same inn A meaner woman was delivered Of such a burden, male twins, both alike: Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, I bought and brought up to attend my sons. My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily motions for our home return : Unwilling I agreed; alas! too soon 61 We came aboard. A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd. Before the always wind-obeying deep Gave any tragic instance of our harm : But longer did we not retain much hope ; For what obscured light the heavens did grant Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; Which though myself would gladly have embraced, 70 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what she saw must come, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, Forced me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was, for other means was none: The sailors sought for safety by our boat. And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us : My wife, more careful for the latter-born, Had fasten 'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring men provide for storms ; To him one of the other twins was bound. Whilst I had been like heedful of the other : 83 The children thus disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; And floating straight, obedient to the stream, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispersed those vapours that offended us ; And, by the benefit of his wished light. The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us, Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : But ere they came, — O, let me say no more ! Gather the sequel by that went before. Diike. Nay, forward, old man ; do not break off so ; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. ^ge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, loi We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ; Which being violently borne upon. Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; 154 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT 1 So that, in this unjust divorce of us, Fortune had left to both of us alike "What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened With lesser weight but not with lesser woe. Was carried with more speed before the wind; no And in our sight they three were taken up By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length, another ship had seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save. Gave healthful welcome to their ship- wreck'd guests ; And would have reft the fishers of their prey. Had not their bark been very slow of sail; And therefore homeward did they bend their course. Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, That by misfortunes was my life pro- long'd, 1 20 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. Dtike. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. ^ge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care. At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned me That his attendant — so his case was like, Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name — Might bear him company in the quest of him : 130 Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, And, coasting homeward, came to Ephe- sus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave un- sought Or that or any place that harbours men. But here must end the story of my life ; And happy were I in my timely death, Could all my travels warrant me they live. Duke. ITapless ^geon, whom the fates have mark'd 141 To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, Which princes, would they, may not dis- annul. My soul should sue as advocate for thee. But, though thou art adjudged to the death And passed sentence may not be recall'd But to our honour's great disparagement, Yet I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day 151 To seek thy life by beneficial help : Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; p]eg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum. And live ; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaol. I will, my lord. yEge. Hopeless and helpless doth ^geon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. lExeiint. Scene II. The Mart, j5'«/t'r Antipholus of Syracuse, Dromio of Syracuse, atid First Merchant. First Mer. Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be con- fiscate. This very day a Syracusian merchant Is apprehended for arrival here ; And not being able to buy out his life According to the statute of the town Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep. Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host. And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 10 Within this hour it will be dinner-time : SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 155 Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the build- ings, And then return and sleep within mine inn, For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Get thee away. Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word. And go indeed, having so good a mean. \Exit. Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, When I am dull with care and melan- choly, 20 Lightens my humour with his merry jests. What, will you walk with me about the town, And then go to my inn and dine with me ? First Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants. Of whom I hope to make much benefit ; I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock, Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart And afterward consort you till bed-time : My present business calls me from you now. Ant. S. Farewell till then : I will go lose myself 30 And wander up and down to view the city. First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. {Exit. Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop. Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother. In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio of Ephe§us. Here comes the almanac of my true date. 41 What now ? how chance thou art return'd so soon ? Dro. E. Return'd so soon ! rather approach'd too late: The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; My mistress made it one upon my cheek : She is so hot because the meat is cold ; The meat is cold because you come not home ; You come not home because you have no stomach; You have no stomach having broke your fast ; 50 But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray Are penitent for your default to-day. Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir : tell me this, I pray: Where have you left the money that I gave you ? D7'o. E. O, — sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ? The saddler had it, sir ; I kept it not. Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now : Tell me, and dally not, where is the money ? We being strangers here, how darest thou trust 60 So great a charge from thine own custody? Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner : I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed, For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock And strike you home without a messenger. Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season ; Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee ? 70 Dro. E. To me, sir ? why, you gave no gold to me. 156 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT II Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge. Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner : My mistress and her sister stays for you. Atit. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me In what safe place you have bestow'd my money, Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours That stands on tricks when I am undis- posed : 80 Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ? Di'o. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, But not a thousand marks between you both. If I should pay your worship those again. Perchance you will not bear them patiently. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ? what mistress, slave, hast thou ? Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix ; She that doth fast till you come home to dinner And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. 90 Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face. Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. Dro. E. What mean you, sir ? for God's sake, hold your hands ! Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit. Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. They say this town is full of cozenage, As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, Soul-killing witches that deform the body. Disguised cheaters, prating mounte- banks, lOI And many such-like liberties of sin : If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : I greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit. ACT II. Scene I. T/ie /louse 0/ A'ntifholvs of Ephesus. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd. That in such haste I sent to seek his master! vSure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. Liu. Perhaps some merchant hath in- vited him And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. Good sister, let us dine and never fret : A man is master of his liberty : Time is their master, and when they see time They'll go or come : if so, be patient, sister. Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? 10 L71C. Because their business still lies out o' door. Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. Lite. O, know he is the bridle of your will. Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so. Liic. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. There's nothing situate under heaven's eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: The beasts, the fishes and the winged fowls Are their males' subjects and at their controls : Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 20 SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 157 Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, Are masters to their females, and their lords : Then let your will attend on their accords. Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. Liic. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other where ? 30 Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. Adr. Patience unmoved ! no marvel though she pause ; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burden'd with like weight of pain. As much or more we should ourselves complain : So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me ; But, if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. 41 Liic. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. Here comes your man ; now is your husband nigh. Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? Dro. E. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? know'st thou his mind ? Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: Beshrew his hand, I scarce could under- stand it. Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning? 51 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce under- stand them. Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home ? It seems he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my mas- ter is horn-mad. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ! Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; But, sure, he is stark mad. When I desired him to come home to dinner, 60 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold: ' 'Tis dinner-time,' quoth I ; * My gold !' quoth he : 'Your meat doth burn,' quoth I ; * My gold ! ' quoth he : ' W^ill you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold ! ' quoth he, ' Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain ?' 'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd;' 'My gold! ' quoth he: ' My mistress, sir,' quoth I ; ' Hang up thy mistress ! I know not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! ' Luc. Quoth who ? Dro. E. Quoth my master : 70 ' I know,' quoth he, ' no house, no wife, no mistress.' So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ; For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? » For God's sake, send some other messenger. Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 158 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT II Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating : Between you I shall have a holy head. 80 Adr. Hence, prating peasant ! fetch thy master home, Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you with me, That like a football you do spurn me thus? You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : If I last in this service, 'you must case me in leather. [^ExiL Lite. Fie, how impatience loureth in your face ! Adr. His company must do his minions grace. Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. Hath homely age the alluring beauty took From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it : 90 Are my discourses dull ? barren my wit ? If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, Unkindness blunts it more than marljle hard: Do their gay vestments his affections bait? That's not my fault: he's master of my state : What ruins are in me that can be found, By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ground Of my defeatures. My decayed fair A sunny look of his would soon repair: But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale 100 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. Luc. Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat it hence ! Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; Or else what lets it but he would be here ? Sister, you know he promised me a chain ; Would that alone, alone he would detain. So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! I see the jewel best enamelled Will lose his beauty ; yet the gold bides still. no That others touch, and often touching will tWear gold : and no man that hath a name. By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy ! \Exmnt. Scene II. A public place. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out By computation and mine host's report. I could not speak with Dromio since at first I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter'd ? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur? you received no gold? Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 10 My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word ? Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 159 And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner ; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was dis- pleased. Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein : 20 What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in^the teeth ? Think'st thou I jest? Hold,. take thou that, and that. \^B eating hivi. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake ! now your jest is earnest : Upon what bargain do you give it me ? Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool and chat with you, Your sauciness will jest upon my love And make a common of my serious hours. When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, 30 But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. If you will jest with me, know my aspect And fashion your demeanour to my looks. Or I M'ill beat this method in your sconce. Dro. S. Sconce call you it ? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head and in- sconce it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? 40 A7it. S. Dost thou not know ? Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for they say every why hath a wherefore. Ant. S. Why, first, — for flouting me ; and then, wherefore, — For urging it the second time to me. Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason ? Well, sir, I thank you. 50 A/it. S. Thank me, sir ! for what ? Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing. Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time ? Dro. S. No, sir : I think the meat wants that I have. Ajit. S. In good time, sir; what's that ? Dro. S. Basting. A /it. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it. 61 Ant. S. Your reason ? D?-o. S. Lest it make you choleric and purchase me another dry basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : there 's a time for all things. Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric. Ant. S. By what rule, sir .'' Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself. 71 Ant. S. Let's hear it. Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery ? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peri- wig and recover the lost hair of another man. Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? 79 D/'o. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts ; and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit. Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath more hair than wit. Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair. A7/t. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. Ant. S. For what reason? 91 Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. Dro. S, Sure ones then. i6o THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT II Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Dro. S. Certain ones then. Ant. S. Name them. Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. loo Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things. Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature. Ant. S. But your reason was not sub- stantial, why there is no time to recover, Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time him- self is bald and therefore to the world's end will have bald followers. Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion : But, soft ! who wafts us yonder? in Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown : Some other mistress hath thy sweet as- pects ; I am not Adriana nor thy wife. The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow That never words were music to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye. That never touch well welcome to thy hand. That never meat sweet -savour'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. 120 How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus estranged from thy- self? Thyself I call it, being strange to me. That, undividable, incorporate. Am better than thy dear self's better part. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ! For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf And take unmingled thence that drop again, Without addition or diminishing, 130 As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious And that this body, consecrate to thee. By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me And hurl the name of husbanci in my face And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot- brow And from my false hand cut the wedding- ring And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? I know thou canst ; and therefore see thou do it. 141 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : For if we two be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured. Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you not : In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 150 As strange unto your town as to your talk ; Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd. Want wit in all one word to understand. L71C. Fie, brother ! how the world is changed with you ! When were you wont to use my sister thus? She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Ant. S. By Dromio ? Dro. S. By me ? Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return from him, That he did buffet thee and in his blows Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 161 A/it. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman ? What is the course and drift of your compact ? SCENE II THE COMED V OF ERRORS i6i Dro. S. I, sir ? I never saw her till this time. Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names ? Unless it be by inspiration. Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 170 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness married to thy stronger state Makes me with thy strength to com- municate : If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; 180 Who, all for want of pruning, with in- trusion Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion. Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme : What, was I married to her in my dream ? Or sleep I now and think I hear all this ? What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the ofter'd fallacy. Lnc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. Dro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner. 190 This is the faiiy land : O spite of spites ! We talk with goblins, owls and sprites : If we obey them not, this will ensue. They '11 suck our breath or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself and answer'st not ? Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot ! VOL. I. Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am I not? Ant. S. I think thou art in mind, and so am I. Dt'o. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. Aitt. S. Thou hast thine own form. Dro. S. No, I am an ape. Ltic. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass. 201 Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me and I long for grass. 'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be But I should know her as well as she knows me. Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool. To put the finger in the eye and weep, Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I '11 dine above with you to-day And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, Say he dines forth and let no creature enter. Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well. Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell ? Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised? Known unto these, and to myself dis- guised ! I '11 say as they say and persever so And in this mist at all adventures go. Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate ? Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. 220 Lttc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. \Exeunt. ACT HI. Scene I. Before the honse ^Anti- pholus of Ephesus. j5';//^r Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar. Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all ; M i6: THE COMED V OF ERRORS ACT III My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours : Say that I linger'd with you at your shop To see the making of her carcanet And that to-morrow you will bring it home. But here's a villain that would face me down He met me on the mart and that I beat him And charged him with a thousand marks in gold And that I did deny my wife and house. Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this ? lo Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know; That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show : If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. Ant. E. I think thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass. You would keep from my heels and be- ware of an ass. Ant. E. You're sad, Signior Bal- thazar : pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. 20 Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every churl affords. A7tt. E. And welcome more common ; for that's nothing out words, Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. Ant. E. Ay to a niggardly host and more sparing guest : But though my cates be mean, take them in good part ; Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. But, soft ! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in. 30 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn ! Dro. S. [IVu/iin'] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch ! Either get thee from the door or sit down at the hatch. Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one too many ? Go get thee from the door. D7'o. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. Dj'o. S. [JVitAm] Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Aftt. E. "Who talks within there ? ho, open the door ! Dro. S. [IVzt/iin] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me where- fore. A7/t. E. Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day. 40 Dro. S. [IVit/iin] Nor to-day here you must not ; come again when you may. Ant. E. What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe ? Dro. S. [IVit/izn] The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain ! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name. The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place. Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. Lt(ce. [IVzt/ii'n] What a coil is there, Dromio ? who are those at the gate ? Dro. E. Let my master in. Luce. Lztre. [ IV/t/iin] Faith, no ; he comes too late ; And so tell your master. Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh ! Have at you with a proverb — Shall I set in my staff? 51 SCENK I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 163 Luce. \Withhi\ Have at you with another ; that 's — When ? can you tell? Dro. S. {Within^ If thy name be Icaird Luce, — Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? Luce. \Withiti\ I thought to have ask'd you. Dro. S. \}Vithhi\ And you said no. Dro. E. So, come, help ; well struck ! there was blow for blow. AnL E. Thou baggage, let me in. Luce. [Within\ Can you tell for whose sake? Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. Luce. \^Withift\ Let him knock till it ache. Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. Luce. [IVzf/im] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town ? Adr. IWithin] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? 61 Dro. S. [IViVn'n] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. AnL E. Are you there, wife ? you might have come before. Adr. \^W?thzji\ Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door. Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this ' knave ' would go sore. Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome : we would fain have either. Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. 70 Your cake there is warm within ; you stand here in the cold : It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold. Ant. E. Go fetch me something: I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S. [ IVit/mt] Brealc any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind, Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. Dro. S. \^Within\ It seems thou want'st breaking : out upon thee, hind! Dro. E. Here 's too much ' out upon thee ! ' I pray thee, let me in. Dro. S. [IVit/ii'n] Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in: go borrow me a crow. 80 Dro. E. A crow without feather ? Master, mean you so ? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather : If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. Aut. E. Go get thee gone; fetch mean iron crow. Ba/. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so! Herein you war against your reputation And draw within the compass of sus- pect The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this, — your long experience of her wisdom. Her sober virtue, years and modesty, riead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 91 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made against you. Be ruled by me : depart in patience. And let us to the Tiger all to dinner. And about evening come yourself alone To know the reason of this strange restraint. If by strong hand you offer to break in Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made of it, And that supposed by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation That may with foul intrusion enter in 164 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT III And dwell upon your grave when you are dead ; For slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession. Ant, E. You have prevail'd : I will depart in quiet, And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. I know a wench of excellent discourse, Pretty and witty, wild and yet, too, gentle: no There will we dine. This woman that I mean. My wife — but, I protest, without desert — Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal : To her will we to dinner. \To Ang.^^ Get you home And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made : Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine ; For there's the house: that chain will I bestow — Be it for nothing but to spite my wife — Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste. Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 120 I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll dis- dain me. Aug. I'll meet you at that place some hour hence. Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense. \_Exeunt. Scene II. The same. Enter Luciana rt';/^ Antipholus of Syracuse. Ltic. And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, Even in the spring of love, thy love- springs rot ? Shall love, in building, grow so ruin- ous? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness : Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; Muffle your false love with some show of blindness : Let not my sister read it in your eye; Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 10 Look sweet, speak fair, become dis- loyalty ; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger ; Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; Be secret-false : what need she be ac- quainted ? What simple thief brags of his own attaint ? 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed And let her read it in thy looks at board : Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 20 Alas, poor women ! make us but believe. Being compact of credit, that you love us ; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ; We in your motion turn and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again; Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain. When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress, — what your name is else, I know not. Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine, — 30 Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS i6s To make it wander in an unknown field ? Are you a god ? would you create me new? j Transform me then, and to your power ^ I'll yield. 40 But if that I am I, then well I know Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe : Far more, far more to you do I decline, O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears : Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote : Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take them and there lie, And in that glorious supposition think He gains by death that hath such means to die: 51 Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink ! Luc, What, are you mad, that you do reason so ? Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Ltic. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Aftt. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Lttc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. Anf. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. Ltic. Why call you me love ? call my sister so. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Lttc. That's my sister. Ant. S. No; 60 It is thyself, mine own self's better part, Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart, My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven and my heaven's claim. Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. Ant. S, Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. Thee will I love and with thee lead my life: Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife. Give me thy hand. Luc. O, soft, sir ! hold you still : I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. A7it. S. Why, how now, Dromio ! where runn'st thou so fast ? Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man and besides myself. A7it. S. What woman's man ? and how besides thyself? 80 Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee ? Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast : not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. Ant. S. What is she ? 90 D7V. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without he say ' Sir-reverence.' I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage ? Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland wdnter: if she lives till doomsday, she 'II burn a week longer than the whole world. Ant. S. What complexion is she of? Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept : for why, she sweats; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. 1 66 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT III Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. D70. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood could not do it. Ant. S. What 's her name ? no Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her. A7it. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks : I found it out by the bogs. 121 Ant. S. Where Scotland? Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of the hand. Ant. S. Where France ? Dro. S. In her forehead ; armed and reverted, making war against her heir. Ant. S. Where England ? Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them ; but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. Ant. S. Where Spain? Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot in her breath. Ant. S. Where America, the Indies ? Dro. S. Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain ; who sent whole armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose. 141 Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ? Dro. S. Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me ; called me Dromio ; swore I was assured to her ; told me what privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I amazed ran from her as a witch : And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith and my heart of steel. She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and made me turn i' the wheel. Ant. S. Go hie thee presently, post to the road : An if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to-night: If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Where I will walk till thou return to me. If every one knows us and we know none, 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. \^Exit. Ant. S. There 's none but witches do inhabit here; 161 And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. She that doth call me husband, even my soul Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and dis- course. Hath almost made me traitor to myself: But, lest myself be guilty to self- wrong, I '11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. Enter Angelo with the chain. Ang. Master Antipholus, — Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. Ang. I know it well, sir: lo, here is the chain. 171 I thought to have ta'en you at the Por- pentine : The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with this ? Ang. What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you. Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I be- spoke it not. A72g. Not once, nor twice, bui twenty times you have. SCENE II i BGo home with it and please your wife H withal ; ^■And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you ■And then receive my money for the chain. H Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the ^* money now, i8i For fear you ne'er see chain nor money K more. ™ Ang. You are a merry man, sir: fare you well. [Exit. Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell : But this I think, there's no man is so vain That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. I see a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I 'U to the mart and there for Dromio stay : If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. ACT IV. Scene I. A public place. Enter Second Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. Sec. Mer. You know since Pentecost the sum is tiue, Andsince Iliavenot much importuned you; Nor now I had not, but that I am bound To Persia and want guilders for my voyage : Therefore make present satisfaction, Or I'll attach you by this officer. Ang. Even just the sum that I do owe to you Is grovv'ing to me by Antipholus, And in the instant that I met with you He had of me a chain : at five o'clock lo I shall receive the money for the same. Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, I will discharge my bond and thank you too. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus «;z^ Dro- mio of Ephesus y^'^w the courtezan'' s. Off. That labour may you save : see where he comes. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 167 Ant. E. Wliile T go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end : that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day. But, soft ! I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone ; Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me. Di'o. E. I buy a thousand pound a year: I buy a rope. [Exit. Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to you : I promised your presence and the chain ; But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. Belike you thought our love would last too long, If it were chain'd together, arid therefore came not. Ang. Saving your merry humour, here 's the note How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat. The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion. Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 30 Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 1 pray you, see him presently discharged. For he is bound to sea and stays but for it. Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present money; Besides, I have some business in the town. Good signior, take the stranger to my house And with you take the chain and bid my vdfe Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof: Perchance I will be there as soon as you. Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself? 40 Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you ? Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have; Or else you may return without your money. i68 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT IV Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain : Both wind and tide stays for tliis gentle- man, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Ant. E. Good Lord ! you use this dalliance to excuse Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. I should have chid you for not bringing it, 50 But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. Sec. Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch. Ang. You hear how he importunes me; — the chain! Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife and fetch your money. Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even now. Either send the chain or send me by some token. Ant. E. Fie, now you run this humour out of breath. Come, where 's the chain ? I pray you, let me see it. Sec. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance. Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no : 60 If not, I'll leave him to the officer. Ant. E. I answer you ! what should I answer you ? Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain. Atit. E. I owe you none till I receive the chain. Ang. You know I gave it you half an hour since. Ant. E. You gave me none : you wrong me much to say so. Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : Consider how it stands upon my credit. Sec. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name to obey me. 70 Ang. This touches me in reputation. Either consent to pay this sum for me Or I attach you by this officer. Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had ! Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest, A7ig. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer. I would not spare my brother in this case, If he should scorn me so apparently. Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit. Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail. 80 But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear As all the metal in your shop will answer. Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, To your notorious shame; I doubt it not. Enter Dromio of Syracuse, fro7n the hay. Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum That stays but till her owner comes aboard And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, I have convey'd aboard and I have bought The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitae. The ship is in her trim; the merry wind Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all 91 But for their owner, master, and yourself. Ant. E. How now ! a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep. What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? Djv. S. a ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope And told thee to what purpose and what end. Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon : You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure 100 And teach your ears to list me with more heed. To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight : Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk Tliat's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry SCENE I THE COMED V OF ERRORS 169 There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it: Tell her I am arrested in the street And that shall bail me : hie thee, slave, be gone ! On, officer, to prison till it come. \Exeimt Sec. I\Ie)-cha7it, Angelo, Officer^ and Ant. E. Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where we dined. Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: no She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. Thither I must, although against my will, For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. lExit. Scene II. The house of Antipholus of Ephesus. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye That he did plead in earnest ? yea or no? Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily ? What observation madest thou in this case Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ? Ltic. First he denied you had in him no right. Ad7-. He meant he did me none ; the more my spite. Ltic. Then swore he that he was a stranger here. Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. 10 Lnc, Then pleaded I for you. Adr. And what said he ? Liic. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me. Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? Luc. With words that in an honest suit might move. First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. Adr. Didst speak him fair ? Ljic. Have patience, I beseech. Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless every- where ; 20 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one ? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Adr. Ah, but I think him better than I say, And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. Far from her nest the lapwing cries away: My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. Enter D ROM 10 of Syracuse. Dro. S. Here ! go ; the desk, the purse ! sweet, now, make haste. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? Dro. S. By running fast. Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well? 31 Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. fA devil in an everlasting garment hath him; One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough; A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands The passages of alleys, creeks and nar- row lands ; A hound that runs counter and yet draws dry-foot well ; One that before the judgement carries poor souls to hell. 40 Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested ? Tell me at whose suit. Di'o. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well ; 170 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT IV But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell. Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk ? Adr. Go fetch it, sister. \ExitLiiciana.'\ This I wonder at, That he, unknown to me, should be in debt. Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; A chain, a chain ! Do you not hear it ring? 50 Adr. What, the chain ? Dro. S. No, no, the bell : 'tis time that I were gone : It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. Di'O. S. O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for very fear. Adr. As if Time were in debt ! how fondly dost thou reason ! Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he 's a thief too : have you not heard men say. That Time comes stealing on by night and day ? 60 If Time be in debt and theft, and a ser- geant in the way. Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day ? Re-enter LuciANA with a purse. Adr. Go, Dromio; there 's the money, bear it straight. And bring thy master home imme- diately. Come, sister : I am press'd down with conceit — Conceit, my comfort and my injury. \Exeunt. Scene III. A public place. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth salute me As if I were their well-acquainted friend; And every one doth call me by my name. Some tender money to me ; some invite me ; Some other give me thanks for kind- nesses ; Some offer me commodities to buy : Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop And show'd me silks that he had bought for me And therewithal took measure of my body. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles 10 And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam new-apparelled? Ant. S. What gold is this ? what Adam dost thou mean ? Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison : he that goes in the calf s skin that was killed for the Prodigal ; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. 20 Ant. S. I understand thee not. Dro. S. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives them suits of durance ; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike. Ant. S. What, thou meanest an officer ? Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band ; one that thinks a man always going to bed and says ' God give you good rest ! ' Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to- night ? may we be gone ? D7^o. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark Expedition put forth to-night ; and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the SCENE III THE COMED Y OF ERRORS 171 hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. 41 Ant. S. Tlie fellow is distract, and so am I ; And here we wander in illusions: Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtezan. Coiir. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Is that the chain you promised me to- day ? Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt me not. Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan ? Ant. S. It is the devil. 50 Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam ; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench : and thereof comes that the wenches say ' God damn me ; ' that's as much to say 'God make me a light wench.' It is written, they appear to men like angels of light : light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn ; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her. Coiir. Your man and you are mar- vellous merry, sir. Will you go with me ? We '11 mend our dinner here ? 60 Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat ; or bespeak a long spoon. Ant. S. Why, Dromio ? Dro. S. Marry, he must .have a long spoon that must eat with the devil. Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! what tell'st thou me of supping ? Thou ai-t, as you are all, a sorceress: I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. Coiir. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, Or, for my diamond, the chain you pro- mised, 70 And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail, A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, A nut, a cherry-stone; But she, more covetous, would have a chain. Master, be wise : an if you give it her. The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it. Coiir. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain : I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let us go. 80 Dro. S. ' Fly pride,' says the peacock : mistress, that you know. \^Exeunt Ant. S. ajid Dro. S. Cour. Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad. Else would he never so demean himself. A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, And for the same he promised me a chain: Both one and other he denies me now. The reason that I gather he is mad. Besides this present instance of his rage, Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner. Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 90 Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, On purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now to hie home to his house, And tell his wife that, being lunatic. He rush'd into my house and took per- force My ring away. This course I fittest choose ; For forty ducats is too much to lose. \^Exit. Scene IV. A street. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and the Officer. Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break away: I '11 give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money. To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. My wife is in a wayward mood to-day. And will not lightly trust the messen- ger. That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. 172 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT IV Elites- Dromio of Epliesus with a rope's-end. Here comes my man ; I think he brings the money. How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for? Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. lo A7it. E. But where 's the money? Dro, E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ? Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hun- dred at the rate. Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home ? Dro. E. To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I returned. Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. \_Beating him. Off. Good sir, be patient. Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity. 21 Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass. Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove it by my long ears. I have served him from the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me with beat- ing : I am waked with it when I sleep ; raised with it when I sit ; driven out of doors with it when I go from home ; wel- comed home with it when I return : nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat ; and, I think, when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. 41 Ant, E. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder. Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and Pinch. Dro. E. Mistress, ' respice finem,' re- spect your end ; or rather, tthe prophecy like the parrot, 'beware the rope's-end.' Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beating him. Coiir. How say you now ? is not your husband mad ? Adr. His incivility confirms no less. Good Doctor Pinch, you are a con- jurer 'y 50 Establish him in his true sense again, And I will please you what you will de- mand. Ltie. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! Cour. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy ! Pinch. Give me your hand and let me feel your pulse. Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. [Striking him. Pijich. I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man, To yield possession to my holy prayers And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight : I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven! Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am not mad. 61 Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor dis- tressed soul ! Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your customers ? Did this companion with the saffron face Revel and feast it at my house to-day. Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut And I denied to enter in my house ? Adr. O husband, God doth know you dined at home ; Where would you had remain'd until this time. Free from these slanders and this open shame ! Ant. E. Dined at home ! Thou vil- lain, what sayest thou? 71 Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. SCENE IV THE COMED V OF ERRORS ^IZ Ani. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut out ? Dro. E. Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you shut out. Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there ? Dio. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you there. Atit. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt and scorn me ? Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen- vestal scorn'd you. Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? Di'o. E. In verity you did ; my bones bear witness, 80 That since have felt the vigour of his rage. Adr. Is 't good to soothe him in these contraries ? Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his vein And yielding to him humours well his frenzy. Attt. E. Thou hast suborn'd the gold- smith to arrest me. Adr. Alas, I sent you money to re- deem you, By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good-will you might; But surely, master, not a rag of money. Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats ? 90 Adr. He came to me and I deliver'd it. Luc. And I am witness with her that she did. Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me witness That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd ; I know it by their pale and deadly looks : They must be bound and laid in some dark room. Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day ? And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 100 Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no gold ; But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. Adr. Dissembling villain, thouspeak'st false in both. Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all And art confederate with a damned pack To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes That would behold in me this shameful sport. Enter three or four ^ and offer to bind him. He strives. Adr. O, bind him, bind him ! let him not come near me. Pinch. More company ! The fiend is strong within him. no Lmc. Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks ! Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou gaoler, thou, I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them To make a rescue ? Off. Masters, let him go : He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. Pinch. Go bind this man, for he is frantic too. [ They offer to bind Dro. E. Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer ? Hast thou delight to see a wretched man Do outrage and displeasure to himself? Off. He is my prisoner: if I let him go. The debt he owes will be required of me. 121 Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee : Bear me forthwith unto his creditor And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. Good master doctor, see him safe con- vey'd Home to my house. O most unhappy day ! Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! 174 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT V Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond for you. Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! where- fore dost thou mad me ? Dro. E. Will you be bound for no- thing ? be mad, good master : cry ' The devil ! ' 131 Ltic. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me. \Exeunt all bjitAdriatia, Luciana, Officer and Courtezan. Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith : do you know him ? Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he owes ? Off. Two hundred ducats. Adr. Say, how grows it due ? Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. Cotir. When as your husband all in rage to-day 140 Came to my house and took away my ring — The ring I saw upon his finger now — Straight after did I meet him with a chain. Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it. Come, gaoler, bring me where the gold- smith is : I long to knov/ the truth hereof at large. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse with his rapier drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. Adr. And come with naked swords. Let's call more help to have them bound again. Off. Away! they'll kill us. 150 \Exeunt all but Ant. S. and Dro. S. Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of swords. Dro. S. She that would be your wife now ran from you. Attt. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence : I long that we were safe and sound aboard. Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night ; they will surely do us no harm : you saw they speak us fair, give us gold : methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch. 160 Artt. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town; Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. \Exeunt. ACT V. Scene I. A street before a Priory. Enter Second Merchant and Angelo. Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you ; But, I protest, he had the chain of me, Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. Sec. Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city? Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir, Of credit infinite, highly beloved. Second to none that lives here in the city: His word might bear my wealth at any time. Sec. Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he walks. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse. Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his neck 10 Which he forswore most monstrously to have. Good sir, draw near to me, I '11 speak to him. Signior Antipholus, I wonder much That you would put me to this shame and trouble ; And, not without some scandal to your- self. With circumstance and oaths so to deny This chain which now you wear so openly : SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 175 Beside the charge, the shame, imprison- ment, You have done wrong to this my honest friend, Who, but for staying on our contro- versy, 20 Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day : This chain you had of me ; can you deny it ? Ant. S. I think I had ; I never did deny it. Sec. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too. Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or forswear it ? Sec. Mer. These ears of mine, thou know'st, did hear thee. Fie on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity that thou Hvest To walk where any honest men resort. A7it. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus : I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty Against thee presently, if thou darest stand. 31 Sec. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. [T/iey draw. Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, oud others. Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ! he is mad. Some get within him, take his sword away: Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take a house! This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd ! [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory. Enter the Lady Abbess. Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither ? Adr. To fetch my poor distracted hus- band hence. Let us come in, that we may bind him fast 40 And bear him home for his recovery. Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. Sec. Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. Abb. How long hath this possession held the man ? Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad. And much different from the man he was; But till this afternoon his passion Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea ? Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye 50 Stray'd his affection in unlawful love ? A sin prevailing much in youthful men. Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Which of these sorrows is he subject to ? Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. Abb. You should for that have repre- hended him. Adr. Why, so I did. Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. Abb. Haply, in private. Adr. And in assemblies too. Abb. Ay, but not enough. 61 Adr. It was the copy of our conference : In bed he slept not for my urging it ; At board he fed not for my urging it ; Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; In company I often glanced it; Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. Abb. And thereof came it that the man was mad : The venom clamours of a jealous woman Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 70 It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing, And thereof comes it that his head is light. Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings : 176 THE COMED V OF ERRORS ACT V Unquiet meals make ill digestions; Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; And what's a fever but a fit of madness? Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls : Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue But moody and dull melancholy, Kinsman to grim and comfortless de- spair, 80 And at her heels a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatures and foes to life ? In food, in sport and life-preserving rest To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast : The consequence is then thy jealous fits Have scared thy husband from the use of wits. Ltic. She never reprehended him but mildly, When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly. Why bear you these rebukes and answer not? Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. 90 Good people, enter and lay hold on him. Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. Adr. Then let your servants bring my husband forth. Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctuary, And it shall privilege him from your hands Till I have brought him to his wits again, Or lose my labour in assaying it. Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse. Diet his sickness, for it is my office, And will have no attorney but myself; And therefore let me have him home with me. loi Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir Till I have used the approved means I have, With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers, To make of him a formal man again : It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, A charitable duty of my order. Therefore depart and leave him here with me. Adr. I will not hence and leave my husband here: And ill it doth beseem your holiness no To separate the husband and the wife. Abb. Be quiet and depart : thou shalt not have him. \^Exi/. Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. Adr. Come, go : I will fall prostrate at his feet And never rise until my tears and prayers Have won his grace to come in person hither And take perforce my husband from the abbess. Sec. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five : Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person Comes this way to the melancholy vale, The place of death and sorry execution. Behind the ditches of the abbey here. Ang. Upon what cause ? Sec. Mer. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, Who put unluckily into this bay Against the laws and statutes of this town, Beheaded publicly for his offence. Ang. See where they come : we will behold his death. Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey. Enter Duke, attended ; ^geon bare- headed ; with the Headsman and other Officers. Dtcke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 130 If any friend will pay the sum for him, He shall not die ; so much we tender him. Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess ! Duhe. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady : It cannot be that she hath done thee wrone. SCENE I THE CO MED V OF ERRORS 177 Adr. May it please your grace, Anti- pholus my husband, Whom I made lord of me and all I had, At your important letters, — this ill day A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; That desperately he hurried through the street, — 140 With him his bondman, all as mad as he, — Doing displeasure to the citizens By rushing in their houses, bearing thence Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. Once did I get him bound and sent him home. Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went That here and there his fury had com- mitted. Anon, I wot not by what strong escape. He broke from those that had the guard of him ; And with his mad attendant and him- self, 150 Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords. Met us again and madly bent on us Chased us away, till raising of more aid We came again to bind them. Then they fled Into this abbey, whither we pursued them : And here the abbess shuts the gates on us And will not suffer us to fetch him out. Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence. Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help. 160 Duke. Long since thy husband served me in my wars. And I to thee engaged a prince's word. When thou didst make him master of thy bed. To do him all the grace and good I could. Go, some of you, knock at the abbey- gate And bid the lady abbess come to me. I will determine this before I stir. VOL. I. Enler a Servant. Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! My master and his man are both broke loose. Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor, 170 Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire ; And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: My master preaches patience to him and the while His man with scissors nicks him like a fool, And sure, unless you send some present help. Between them they will kill the conjurer. Adr. Peace, fool ! thy master and his man are here, And that is false thou dost report to us. Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; 180 I have not breathed almost since I did see it. He cries for you and vows, if he can take you. To scorch your face and to disfigure you. \Cry wil/iin. Hark, hark ! I hear him, mistress : fly, be gone ! Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear no- thing. Guard with halberds! Adr. Ay me, it is my husband ! Wit- ness you, That he is borne about invisible : Even now we housed him in the abbey here; And now he's there, past thought of human reason. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and D ROM 10 of Ephesus. Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me justice ! 190 Even for the service that long since I did thee. When I bestrid thee in the w^ars and took N 178 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT V Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. ^ge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there ! She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife. That hath abused and dishonour 'd me Even in the strength and height of injury! Beyond imagination is the wrong 201 That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. A7it. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me. While ^he with harlots feasted in my house. Dtike. A grievous fault ! Say, woman, didst thou so ? Ad)'. No, my good lord : myself, he and my sister To-day did dine together. So befall my soul As this is false he burdens me withal ! Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, 210 But she tells to your highness simple truth ! Aug. O perjured woman ! They are both forsworn : In this the madman justly chargeth them. Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what Neither disturbed with the effect of wine. Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire, Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her. Could witness it, for he was with me then; 220 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him : in the street I met him And in his company that gentleman. There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down That I this day of him received the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which He did arrest me with an officer. 230 I did obey, and sent my peasant home P^or certain ducats : he with none return'd. Then fairly I bespoke the officer To go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates. Along with them T]jey brought one Pinch, a hungry lean- faced villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp -looking wretch, 240 A living-dead man : this pernicious slave. Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me. Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence And in a dark and dankish vault at home There left me and my man, both bound together ; Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom and immediately Ran hither to your grace ; whom I be- seech 251 To give me ample satisfaction For these deep shames and great indig- nities. Aug. My lord, in truth, thus far I wit- ness with him. That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. Duke. But had he such a chain of thee or no ? Aug. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here, SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 179 These people saw the chain about his neck. Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine Heard you confess you had the chain of him 260 After you first forswore it on the mart : And thereupon I drew my sword on you; And then you fled into this abbey here, From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. A7it. E. I never came within these abbey-walls, Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me: I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven ! And this is false you burden me withal. Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this ! I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. If here you housed him, here he would have been ; 271 If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly: Vou say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you? Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine. Cou7'. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring. Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege ; this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither. 280 I think you are all mated or stark mad. YExlt one to the Abbess, ^ge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word : Haply I see a friend will save my life And pay the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. ^ge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus ? And is not that your bondman, Dromio? Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir. But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : Now am I Dromio and his man un- bound. 290 •■Ege. I am sure you both of you re- member me. Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? -^ge. Why look you strange on me ? you know me well. Aiit. E. I never saw you in my life till now. ^ge. O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 300 Ant. E. Neither. -^ge. Dromio, nor thou ? Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. -^ge. I am sure thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. /Ege. Not know my voice ! O time's extremity. Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, tjiat here my only son ^ Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares ? 310 Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow And all the conduits of my blood froze up. Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left. My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses — I cannot err — i8o THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT V Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. yEge. But seven years since, in Syra- cusa, boy, 320 Thou know'st we parted : but perhaps, my son. Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery. Ajit. E. The duke and all that know me in the city Can witness with me that it is not so : I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years Have I been patron to Antipholus, During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. Re-enter Abbess, zvit/i Antipholus of Syracuse and D ROM 10 of Syracuse. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. 330 [All gat he J' to see tJieni. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other; And so of these. Which is the natural man, And which the spirit ? who deciphers them ? Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio: command him away. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio : pray, let me stay. Ant. S. ^geon art thou not ? or else his ghost ? D7-0. S. O, my old master ! who hath bound him here ? Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds And gain a husband by his liberty. 340 Speak, old i^geon, if thou be'st the man That hadst a wife once call'd Emilia That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : O, if thou be'st the same /Egeon, speak, And speak unto the same /Emilia! yEge. If I dream not, thou art Emilia : If thou art she, tell me where is that son That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? Abb. By men of Epidamnum he and I And the twin Dromio all were taken up ; But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth By force took Dromio and my son from them And me they left with those of Epidamnum. What then became of them I cannot tell; I to this fortune that you see me in, Dtike. Why, here begins his morning story right: These two Antipholuses, these two so like. And these two Dromios, one in sem- blance,— Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — These are the parents to these children, Which accidentally are met together. 361 Antipholus, thou earnest from Corinth first? Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which is which. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. — Dro. E. And I with him. Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior, Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day ? Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. Adr. And are not you my husband ? Atit. E. No ; I say nay to that. 371 Ant. S. And so do I ; yet did she call me so : And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. Did call me brother. [To Znc] What I told you then, I hope I shall have leisure to make good ; If this be not a dream I see and hear. Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. Ant. S. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not. Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 380 SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS i8i Aug. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail. By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me. Ant. S, This purse of ducats I received from you And Dromio my man did bring them me. I see we still did meet each other's man. And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. And thereupon these errors are arose. Atit. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his life. 390 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my good cheer. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : And all that are assembled in this place, That by this sympathized one day's error Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company, And we shall make full satisfaction. Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail 400 Of you, my sons ; and till this present hour My heavy burthen ne'er delivered. The duke, my husband and my children both, And you the calendars of their nativity, Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me; After so long grief, such festivity ! Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. \Exeunt all but Ant. S,^ Ant. E., Dro. S. , and Dro. E. Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard ? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark 'd ? Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. 410 Ant. S. He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio : Come, go with us ; we '11 look to that anon: Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him. [Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner: She now shall be my sister, not my wife, Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 420 Dro. E. That's a question : how shall we try it ? Dro. S. We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first. Dro. E. Nay, then, thus: We came into the world like brother and brother ; And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. \Exeunt. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING DRAMATIS PERSONS Don Pedro, prince of Arragon. Don John, his bastard brother. Claudio, a young lord of Florence. Benedick, a young lord of Padua. Leonato, governor of Messina. Antonio, his brother. Balthasar, attendant on Don Pedro. CONRADE, "[ BORACHIO, j Friar Francis. followers of Don John. Dogberry, a constable. Verges, a headborough. A Sexton. A Boy. Hero, daughter to Leonato. Beatrice, niece to Leonato. Margaret, 1 gentlewomen attending Ursula, j on Hero. Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. Scene : Messina. ACT I. Scene I. Before Leonato's house. Enter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, with a Messenger. Leo)i. I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina. Mess. He is very near by this : he was not three leagues off when I left him. Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action ? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio. 1 1 Mess. Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by Don Pedro : he hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath indeed better bettered expectation than you must ex- pect of me to tell you how. Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him ; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness. Leon. Did he break out into tears ? Mess. In great measure. Leon. A kind overflow of kindness •. there are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping ! Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no? 31 Mess. I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army of any sort. Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? Llero. My cousin means Signior Bene- dick of Padua. Mess. O, he's returned; and as plea- sant as ever he was. Beat. Pie set up his bills here in Mes- sina and challenged Cupid at the flight ; and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars ? But how many hath he killed ? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing. SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 183 Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much ; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher - man ; he hath an excellent stomach. Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. Beat. And a good soldier to a lady : but what is he to a lord ? Aless. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues. Beat. It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a stuffed man : but for the stuffing, — well, we are all mortal. 60 Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her : they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them. Beat. Alas ! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one : so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse ; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his com- panion now ? He hath every month a new sworn brother. Mess. Is 't possible ? Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block. Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Beat. No ; an he were, I w^ould burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no young squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil ? Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs pre- sently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere a' be cured. 90 Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. Beat. Do, good friend. Leon. You will never run mad, niece. Beat. No, not till a hot January. Mess. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, and Balthasar. D. Ped7'o. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you en- counter it. Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace : for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave. D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter. Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a child. D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady ; for you are like an hon- ourable father. Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick : nobody marks you. Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain ! are you yet living? 120 Beat. Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick ? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence. Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none. 1 84 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT 1 Beat. A dear happiness to women : they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that : I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me. Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face. Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were. Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot- teacher. Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. 141 Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's name ; I have done. Beat. You always end with a jade's trick : I know you of old. D. Pedt'o. That is the sum of all, Leo- nato. Signior Claudio and Signior Bene- dick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at the least a month; and he heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. \To Don Johti\ Let me bid you welcome, my lord : being recon- ciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty. D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words, but I thank you. Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go together. 161 [Exeunt all except Benedick and Claudio. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato ? Befie. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple true judge- ment ; or would you hav^e me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex ? 170 Claud. No ; I pray thee speak in sober judgement. Bote. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise : only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. Claud. Thou think est I am in sport : I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her. Bene. Would you buy her, that you in- quire after her ? Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow ? or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song ? Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on. 190 Bene. I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter : there 's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fuiy, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of Decem- ber. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you ? Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. Bene, Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore again? Go to, i' faith ; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays. Look; Don Pedro is returned to seek you. Re-enter Don Pedro. D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonato's? Bene. I would your grace would con- strain me to tell. D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy alle- giance. Bene. You hear. Count Claudio : I can be secret as a dumb man ; I would have SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 185 you think so; but, on my allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance. He is in love. With who ? now that is your grace's part. Mark how short his answer is ; — With Hero, Leonato's short daughter. Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : ' it is not so, nor 'twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be so.' 220 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwise. D. Pedro, Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is very well worthy. Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. Claud. That I love her, I feel. 230 D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me : I will die in it at the stake. D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty. Claud. And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will. Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her ; that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is, for the which I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor. D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. 250 Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord, not with love : prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid. D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. 261 D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: ' In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.' Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns and set them in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write ' Here is good horse to hire,' let them signify under my sign ' Here you may see Benedick the married man.' 270 Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn -mad. D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime, good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's : commend me to him and tell him I will not fail him at supper ; for indeed he hath made great preparation. 280 Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage ; and so I commit you — Claud. To the tuition of God : From my house, if I had it, — D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend, Benedick. Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither : ere you flout old ends any further, examine your conscience : and so I leave you. lExit. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach : teach it but how. i86 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT I And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn Any hard lesson that may do thee good. Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? D. Pedro. No child but Hero ; she's his only heir. Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? Claud. O, my lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye. That liked, but had a rougher task in hand 301 Than to drive liking to the name of love : But now I am return'd and that war- thoughts Have left their places vacant, in their rooms Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is. Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently And tire the hearer with a book of words. If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, And I will break with her and with her father 311 And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end That thou began 'st to twist so fine a story? Claud. How sweetly you do minister to love. That know love's grief by his complexion ! But lest my liking might too sudden seem, I would have salved it with a longer treatise. D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood ? The fairest grant is the necessity. Look, what will serve is fit: 'tis once, thou lovest, 320 And I will fit thee with the remedy. I know we shall have revelling to-night ; I will assume thy part in some disguise And tell fair Hero I am Claudio, And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart And take her hearing prisoner with the force And strong encounter of my amorous tale ; Then after to her father will I break ; And the conclusion is, she shall be thine. In practice let us put it presently. 330 \Exeunt. Scene II. A room in Leonato's house. ^;//.?r Leonato ««flf Antonio, meeting. Leon. How now, brother ! Where is my cousin, your son ? hath he provided this music ? A7it. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamt not of. Leon. Are they good ? Ant. As the event stamps them : but they have a good cover ; they show well outward. The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in mine orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine : the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the pre- sent time by the top and instantly break with you of it. Leo7i. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him; and question him yourself. 20 Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream till it appear itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and tell her of it. \Enter attendants.'\ Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you mercy, friend ; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin, have a care this busy time. \Exeunt. Scene III. The same. Enter Don John and Conrade. Con. What the good -year, my lord ! w hy are you thus out of measure sad ? D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds ; therefore the sad- ness is without limit. Con. You should hear reason. SCENE III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 187 D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it ? CoJi. If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance. 10 D. Johii. I wonder that tliou, being, as thou sayest thou art, born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad when I have cause and smile at no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's leisure, sleep when I am drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh when I am merry and claw no man in his humour. Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this till you may do it with- out controlment. You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself : it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest. D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace, and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any : in this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and enfran- chised with a clog ; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking : in the meantime let me be that I am and seek not to alter me. Con. Can you make no use of your discontent ? 40 D. Joh7t. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes here ? Enter Borachio. What news, Borachio? Bora. I came yonder from a great supper : the prince your brother is royally entertained by Leonato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage. D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief on ? What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness ? Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. D. John. Who ? the most exquisite Claudio ? Bo7'a. Even he. D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ? which way looks he ? Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. D. John. A very forward March-chick ! How came you to this ? Bora. Being entertained for a per- fumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed upon that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give her to Count Claudio, D. John. Come, come, let us thither : this may prove food to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow : if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way. You are both sure, and will assist me ? 71 Con. To the death, my lord. D. John. Let us to the great supper : their cheer is the greater that I am sub- dued. Would the cook were of my mind ! Shall we go prove what 's to be done ? Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. \Exeiint. ACT II. Scene I. A hall in Leonato's house. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. Leon. W^as not Count John here at supper ? Ant. I saw him not. Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am heart- burned an hour after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy dis- position. Beat. He weroian excellent man that were made just in the midway between MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT II him and Benedick : the one is too like an image and says nothing, and the other too Hke my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling. 1 1 Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth, and half Count John's melancholy in Signior Bene- dick's face, — Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world, if a' could get her good-will. Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 21 Ant. In faith, she's too curst. Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall lessen God's sending that way ; for it is said, ' God sends a curst cow short horns;' but to a cow too curst he sends none. Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns. Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face : I had rather lie in the woollen. Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard. Beat. What should I do with him ? dress him in my apparel and make him my waiting-gentlewoman ? He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man : and he that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him : therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell, Leon. Well, then, go you into hell ? Beat. No, but to the gate ; and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say ' Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven ; here's no place for you maids :' so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens ; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as mewy as the day is long. Ant. [To Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father. Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say ' Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say ' Father, as it please me.' Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. 61 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a piece of valiant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren ; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. 71 Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time : if the prince be too important, tell him there is measure in every thing and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero : wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace : the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly- modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry ; and then comes repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a church by daylight. Leojt. The revellers are entering, brother : make good room. [A// put on their masks. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Bene- dick, Balthasar, Don John, Bor- ACHio, Margaret, Ursula, aftd others, masked. D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend ? 90 Hero. So you walk softly and look SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 189 sweetly and say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and especially when I walk away. D. Pedro. With me in your company ? Hero. I may say so, when I please. D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ? Hero. When I like your favour ; for God defend the lute should be like the case ! D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove. 100 Hero. Why, then, your visor should be thatched. D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. \Drazving her aside. Balth. Well, I would you did like me. Marg. So would not I, for your own sake ; for I have many ill qualities. Balth. Which is one ? Marg. I say my prayers aloud. Balth. I love you the better : the hearers may cry. Amen. no Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! Balth. Amen. Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done ! Answer, clerk. Balth. No more words : the clerk is answered. Urs. I know you well enough ; you are Signior Antonio. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 120 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Urs. You could never do him so ill- well, imless you were the very man. Here's his dry hand up and down : you are he, you are he. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit ? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and there's an end. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so ? 130 Bene, No, you shall pardon me. Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? Bene. Not now. Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the * Hundred Merry Tales:' — well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he? Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. Bene. Not I, believe me. Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? Bene. I pray you, what is he? 141 Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester; a very dull fool ; only his gift is in de- vising impossible slanders ; none but libertines delight in him ; and the com- mendation is not in bis wit, but in his villany ; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet : I would he had boarded me. Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say. 151 Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a com- parison or two on me ; which, peradven- ture not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. ^Music.^ We must follow the leaders. Bene. In every good thing. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning. 160 \Pance. Then exeunt all except Don John^ Borachio, and Claiidio. D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but one visor remains. Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by his bearing. D. John. Are not you Signior Bene- dick ? Claud. You know me well; I am he. D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love : he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her: she is no equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it. Cland. How know you he loves her? 1 90 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT II D. John. I heard him swear his affec- tion. Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry her to-night. D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exetmt Don John and Borachio. Cland. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. i8o 'Tis certain so ; the prince wooes for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love : Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues ; Let every eye negotiate for itself And trust no agent ; for beauty is a witch Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, there- fore, Hero ! Re-enter Benedick. Bene. Count Claudio? 190 Claud. Yea, the same. Bene. Come, will you go with me ? Claud. Whither? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, county. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about your neck, like an usurer's chain ? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero. Claud. I wish him joy of her. 200 Bene. W^hy, that's spoken like an honest drovier : so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served you thus? Claud. I pray you, leave me. Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man : 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you '11 beat the post. Claud. If it will not be, I '11 leave you. {Exit. Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! now will he creep into sedges. But that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! Ha? It may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do my- self wrong ; I am not so reputed : it is the base, though bitter, disposition of Beatrice that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I '11 be revenged as I may. Re-enter Don Pedro. D. Pedro. Now, signior, where 's the count ? did you see him ? Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren : I told him, and I think I told him true, that your grace had got the good will of this young lady ; and I offered him my company to a willow- tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault ? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoyed with finding a birds' nest, shows it his com- panion, and he steals it. 231 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too ; for the garland he might have worn him- self, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his birds' nest. D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. 240 Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you : the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged by you. Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block ! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have answered her ; my very visor began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester, that I was duller than SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 191 a great thaw ; huddling jest upon jest with such impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs : if her breath were as terrible as her ter- minations, there were no living near her ; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed : she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her : you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her ; for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and perturbation follows her. D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 270 Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato. Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end ? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on ; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia, bring you the length of Prester John's foot, fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard, do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me ? 280 D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not : I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. \^Exit. D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one : marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. 291 D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ! wherefore are you sad ? Claud. Not sad, my lord. 300 D. Pedro. How then ? sick ? Clatid. Neither, my lord. Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well ; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion. D. Pedro. V faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won: I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained : name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy! Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes : his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it. Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you can- not, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak neither. D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. Claud, And so she doth, cousin. Beat. Good Lord, for alliance ! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt ; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband ! D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your grace ne'er 192 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT '•ll a brother like you ? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? Beat. No, my lord, imless I might have another for working -days : your grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your grace, pardon me : I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried ; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy ! 350 Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace's pardon. \^Exit. D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant- spirited lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord : she is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then ; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappi- ness and waked herself with laughing. D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. Leon. O, by no means : she mocks all her wooers out of suit. D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad. D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church? 371 Claud. To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love have all his rites. Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief, too, to have all things answer my mind. D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing : but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the interim undertake one of Hercules' labours ; which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a matcli, and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings. Claud. And I, my lord. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ? Hero, I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. 391 D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him ; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick ; and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer : his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. {Exeunt. Scene II. The same. Enter Don John and Borachio. D. John. It is so ; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage ? Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 10 D. John. Show me briefly how. Bora, I think I told your lordship a year since, how much I am in the favour SCENE ir MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 193 of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. D. John. I remember. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber window. D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage ? 20 Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell him that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio — whose estimation do you mightily hold up — to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. D. John. What proof shall I make of that? Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue ? 30 D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing. Bora. Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone : tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as, — in love of your brother's honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid, — that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial : offer them instances ; which shall bear no less like- lihood than to see me at her chamber- window, hear me fcall Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio ; and bring them to see this the very night before the intended wedding, — for in the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be absent, — and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty that jealousy shall be called assurance and all the preparation overthrown. 51 D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Bora. Be you constant in the accusa- VOL. I. tion, and my cunning shall not shame me. D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. \Exetint. Scene HI. Leonato's orchard. Enter Benedick. Bene. Boy ! Enter Boy. Boy. Signior ? Bene. In my chamber- window lies a book : bring it hither to me in the orchard. Boy. I am here already, sir. Bene. I know that ; but I would have thee hence, and here again. {^Exit Boy.] I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love : and such a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him but the drum and the fife ; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe : I have known when he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see a good armour ; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is he turned orthography; his words are a veiy fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; I think not : I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well ; another is wise, yet I am well ; another virtuous, yet I am well ; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I '11 none ; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her ; mild, or come not near me ; O 194 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT 11 noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha ! the prince and Monsieur Love ! I will hide me in the arbour. [ Withdraws. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, 40 As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended, We'll fit the kid- fox with a pennyworth. Enter Balthasar ivith Mtisic. D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, m'c'H hear that song again. Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice To slander music any more than once. D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency To put a strange faceonhisown perfection. I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; 51 Since many a wooer doth commence his suit To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes. Yet will he swear he loves. D. Pedro. Now, pray thee, come ; Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, Do it in notes. Balth. Note this before my notes ; There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks ; Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. \^Air. Bene. Now, divine air ! now is his soul ravished ! Is it not strange that sheeps' guts should hale souls out of men's bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all's done. The Song. Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever. One foot in sea and one on shore. To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, but let them go. And be you blithe and bonny. Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny. 71 Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so. Since summer first was leavy : Then sigh not so, etc. D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith ; thou singest well enough for a shift. 8c Bene. An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him : and I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it. D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent music ; for to-morrow night we would have it at the Lady Hero's chamber- window. Balth. The best I can, my lord. 90 D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exit Balthasar. '\ Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick ? Claitd. O, ay: stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leo7t. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. Be72e. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner ? Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that she loves him with an enraged affection ; it is past the infinite of thought. «3 1 SORNE III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 195 D. Pedro. May be she doth but coun- terfeit. Claud. Faith, like enough. Lco7i. O God, counterfeit ! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the hfe of passion as she discovers it. D. Pedro. Why, what effects of pas- sion shows she ? Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. Leon. What effects, my lord ? She will sit you, you heard my daughter tell you how. Claud. She did, indeed. D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You amaze me : I w^ould have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection. ■ 120 Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick. Bene. I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in sUch reverence. Claud. He hath ta'en the infection : hold it up. D. Pedro, Hath she made her affection inown to Benedick ? Leon. No.; and swears she never will: ihat's her torment. 130 Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your laughter says : ' Shall I,' says she, ' that lave so oft encountered him with scorn, A'rite to him that I love him?' Leon. This says she now when she is ^ginning to write to him ; for she '11 be j) twenty times a night, and there will le sit in her smock till she have writ a *leet of paper : my daughter tells us all. Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of iper, I remember a pretty jest your aughter told us of. Leon. O, when she had writ it and vas reading it over, she found Benedick nd Beatrice between the sheet ? Claiid. That. Leon. O, she tore the letter into a housand halfpence ; railed at herself, hat she should be so immodest to write D one that she knew would flout her ; I measure him,' says she, 'by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, though I love him, I should.' Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; ' O sweet Benedick! God give me patience !' Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter is some- time afeard she will do a desperate out- rage to herself: it is very true. D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it. 161 Claud. To what end ? He a- ould make but a sport of it and torment the poor lady worse. D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. Claud. And she is exceeding wise. D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Benedick. Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me : I would have daffed all other respects and made her half my- self. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what a' will say. Leo7i. Were it good, think you? Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for she says she will die, if he love her not, and she will die, ere she make her love known, and she will die, if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustomed crossness. D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Clatul. He is a very proper man. D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness, 191 Claud. Before God I and, in my mind, very wise. 196 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT II D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are Hke wit. Claud. And I take him to be valiant. D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 200 Leon. If he do fear God, a' must necessarily keep peace : if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love ? Claud. Never tell him, my lord : let her wear it out with good counsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible : she may wear her heart out first. 210 D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter : let it cool the while. I love Benedick well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady. Leo7t. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready. Clatid. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter : that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. \Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. Bene. \Coining for^vard^ This can be no trick : the conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady : it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured : they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her ; they say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry : I must not seem proud : happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness ; and virtuous ; 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but for loving me ; by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argu- ment of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage : but doth not the appetite alter ? a man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour ? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day ! she's a fair lady : I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me : if it had been painful, I would not have come. 261 Bene. You take pleasure then in the message ? Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well. \Exit. Bene. Ha ! ' Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner there 's a double meaning in that. ' I took no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me ;' that's as much as to say. Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not l(we her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. {Exit. ACT III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 107 ACT III. Scene I. Leonato's garden. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour ; There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice Proposing with the prince and Claudio : Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula Walk in the orchard and our whole dis- course Is all of her ; say that thou overheard'st us; And bid her steal into the pleached bower. Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, Forbid the sun to enter, like favourites. Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 10 Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her. To listen our purpose. This is thy office; Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. \Exit. Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come. As we do trace this alley up and down, Our talk must only be of Benedick. When I do name him, let it be thy part To praise him more than ever man did merit : My talk to thee must be how Benedick Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter 21 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made. That only wounds by hearsay. Enter Beatrice, behind. Now begin ; For look M^here Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our confer- ence. Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, And greedily devour the treacherous bait : So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now Is couched in the woodbine coverture. Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 31 Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. \App)'oaching the bower. No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; I know her spirits are as coy and wild As haggerds of the rock. Urs. But are you sure That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? Hero. So says the prince and my new- trothed lord. Us. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it ; But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 41 To wish him wrestle with affection. And never to let Beatrice know of it. Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman Deserve as full as fortunate a bed As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? Hero. O god of love ! I know he doth deserve As much as may be yielded to a man: But Nature never framed a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice ; Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 51 Misprising what they look on, and her wit Values itself so highly that to her All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. Urs. Sure, I think so; And therefore certainly it were not good She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured, 60 But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, She would swear the gentleman should be her sister ; If black, why. Nature, drawing of an antique. 198 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT III Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill- headed ; If low, an agate very vilely cut ; If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out And never gives to truth and virtue that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 71 He7'o. No, not to be so odd and from all fashions As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak. She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : It were a better death than die with mocks. Which is as bad as die witli tickling. 80 Urs. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will say. Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick And counsel him to fight against his pas- sion. And, truly, I '11 devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with : one doth not know How much an ill word may empoison liking. Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. She cannot be so much without tjrue judgement — Having so swift and excellent a wit As she is prized to have — as to refuse 90 So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. Hero. He is the only man of Italy, Always excepted my dear Claudio. Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick, For shape, for bearing, argument and valour. Goes foremost in report through Italy. Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. When are you married, madam? 100 Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in : I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Urs. She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam. Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps : Some Cupid kills with aiTows, some with traps. \^Exeimt Hero and Ursula. Beat. \Coi}iing forward^ What fire is in mine ears ? Can this be true ? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much ? Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! No glory lives behind the back of such. And, Benedick, love on ; I will requite thee, III Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand : If thou dost love, my kindness shall in- cite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band ; For others say thou dost deserve, and I Believe it better than reportingly. \Exit. Scene II. A room in Leonato's house. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Bene- dick, and LeONATO. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your mar- riage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon. Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me. D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage as to show a child his new coat and for- bid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string and the little hangman dare not shoot at him ; he I SCENE II MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 199 hath a heart as sound as a bell and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I : methinks you are sadder. Claud. I hope he be in love. D. Pedro. Hang him, truant! there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with love : if he be sad, he wants money. 20 Bene. I have the toothache. D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it ! Clatid. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth- ache ? Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm. Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it. Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 30 D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-mor- row, or in the shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Chuid. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs: a' brushes his hat o' mornings ; what should that bode ? 42 D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's ? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him, and the old orna- ment of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. D. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet : can you smell him out by that ? Cland. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love. D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Cland. And when was he wont to wash his face ? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him. Clayd. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now crept into a lute-string and now governed by stops. D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him : conclude, conclude he is in love. Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. D. Pedio. That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of all, dies for him. D. I^edro. She shall be buried with her face upwards. 71 Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old signior, walk aside with me : I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. \Exeunt Benedick and Leona/o. D. Pedro. For rny life, to break with him about Beatrice. Claud. 'Tis even so. Hero and Mar- garet have by this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet. 81 Enter Don John. D. Joh)i. My lord and brother, God save you! D. Pedio. Good den, brother. D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. D. Pedro. In private ? D. John. If it please you: yet Count Claudio may hear ; for what I would speak of concerns him. D. Pedro. What's the matter? 90 D. John. [To Claud/o] Means your lordship to be married to-morrow ? D. Pedro. You know he does. D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I know. 200 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT III Claud. If there be any impediment, T pray you discover it. Z>. John. You may think I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage ; — surely suit ill spent and labour ill be- stowed. D. Pedro. Why, what 's the matter ? D. John. I came hither to tell you ; and, circumstances shortened, for she has been too long a talking of, the lady is disloyal. Clmid. Who, Hero? D. John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. no Claitd. Disloyal ? D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness ; I could say she were worse : think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant : go but with me to-night, you shall see her chamber- window entered, even the night before her wedding-day: if you love her then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to change your mind. Clatid. May this be so? 120 D. Pedro. I will not think it. D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know : if you will follow me, I will show you enough ; and when you have seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly. Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. 130 D. John. I will disparage her no far- ther till you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. D. Pedro. O day untoward ly turned ! Cland. O mischief strangely thwart- ing! D. John. O plague right well pre- vented ! so will you say when you have seen the sequel. \ILxeunt. Scene III. A street. Enter Dogi^erry and Verges with the Watch. Dog. Are you good men and true ? Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable ? 10 First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Seacole ; for they can write and read. Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacole. God hath blessed you with a good name : to l^e a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature. Sec. Watch. Both which, master con- stable,— Dog. You have : I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern. This is your charge : you shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. Sec. Watch. How if a' will not stand ? Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together and thank God you are rid of a knave. 31 Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's sub- jects. Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects. You shall also make no noise in the streets ; SCENE III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 20 r for for the watch to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch. 40 Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend : only, have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. Watch. How if they will not ? Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they are sober : if they make you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you took them for. 51 Walch. Well, sir. Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your oflice, to be no true man ; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him ? Dog. Truly, by your office, you may ; but I think they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company. Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 70 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us ? Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes will never answer a calf when he bleats, Verg. 'Tis very true. Dog. This is the end of the charge : — you, constable, are to present the prince's own person : if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. 81 Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think a' cannot. Dog. Y'we shillings to one on't, with any man that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, not without the prince be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Verg. By 'r lady, I think it be so. Dog. Ha, ah, ha ! Well, masters, good night : an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own; and good night. Come, neighbour. Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. Dog. One word more, honest neigh- bours. I pray you, watch about Signior I>eonato's door ; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to- night. Adieu : be vigitant, I beseech you. \Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Enter Borachio and Conrade. Bora. What, Conrade ! Watch. [Aside] Peace ! stir not. Bora. Conrade, I say! Con. Here, man ; I am at thy elbow. Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought there would a scab follow. Con. I will owe thee an answer for that: and now forward with thy tale. Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this pent-house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. 112 Watch. [Asz'de] Some treason, masters : yet stand close. Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear ? Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villany should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will. Con. I wonder at it. Bora. That shows thou art uncon- firmed. Thou knowest that the fashion 202 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT III of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. Con. Yes, it is apparel. Bora. I mean, the fashion. Coil. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Bora. Tush ! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? Watch [Aside] I know that Deformed ; a' has been a vile thief this seven year ; a' goes up and. down like a gentleman: I remember his name. Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? Coji. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily a' turns about all the hot bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty ? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime like god Bel's priests in the old church-window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy as his club ? Co7t. All this I see ; and 1 see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion ? Bora. Not so, neither : but know that I have to-night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero : she leans me out at her mistress' chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night, — I tell this tale vilely: — I should first tell thee how the prince, Claudio and my master, planted and placed and possessed by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter. i6i Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero? Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she was Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio en- raged ; swore he would meet her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before tlie whole con- gregation, shame her with what he saw o'er night and send her home again with- out a husband. Fh'st Watch. We charge you, in the prince's name, stand ! Sec. Watch. Call up the right master constable. We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. i8i First Watch. And one Deformed is one of them : I know him ; a' wears a lock. Con. Masters, masters, — Sec. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Co)i. Masters, — Fii^st Watch. Never speak : we charge you let us obey you to go with us. Bora. W^e are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these men's bills. 191 Con. A commodity in question, I war- rant you. Come, we'll obey you. \_Exeitn!. ScEiNE IV. Hero's apartinent. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise. Urs. I will, lady. Hero. And bid her come hitlier. Urs. Well. lExil. Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Marg. By my troth, 's not so good ; and I warrant your cousin will say so. Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another: I'll wear none but this. Marg. I like the new tire within ex- cellently, if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so. Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. Alarg. By my troth, 's but a night- SCENE IV MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 203 gown in respect of yours : clotli o' gold, and cuts, and laced Avith silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round underbornc with a bluish tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Hero. God give me joy to wear it ! for my heart is exceeding heavy. Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? Marg, Of what, lady ? of speaking honourably ? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar ? Is not your lord honour- able without marriage ? I think you would have me say, ' saving your reverence, a husband:' an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I '11 offend nobody : is there any harm in ' the heavier for a husband'? None, I think, an it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy : ask my Lady Beatrice else ; here she conies. Enter Beatrice. Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 40 Hero. Why, how now ? do you speak in the sick tune? Beat. I am out of all other tune, me- thinks. Marg. Clap's into 'Light o' love;' that goes without a burden : do you sing it, and I '11 dance it. Beat. Ye light o' love, with your heels ! then, if your husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barns. Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that with my heels. 51 Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill : heigh-ho ! Mai'g. For a hawk, a horse, or a hus- band? Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's no more sailing by the star. Beat. What means the fool, trow ? ]\Iarg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their heart's desire ! 61 Hero. These gloves the count sent me ; they are an excellent perfume. Beat. I am stuffed, cousin ; I cannot smell. Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold. Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how long have you professed apprehen- sion? Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely ? jo Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, 1 am sick. Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prickest her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus ? you have some moral in this Benedictus, Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy- thistle. You may think perchance that I think you are in love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list, nor I list not to think what I can, noi indeed I cannot think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love or that you will be in love or that you can be in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man : he swore he would never marry, and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudging : and how you may be converted I know not, but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do. Bea^. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ? Marg. Not a false gallop. Re-enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, withdraw : the prince, the count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to church. Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. \^Exeunt. 204 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT IV Scene V. Another room in Leonato's house. Enter Leonato, tvitli DOGBERRY and Verges. Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour ? Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns you nearly. Leoji. Brief, I pray you ; for you see it is a busy time with me. Dog. Marry, this it is, sir. Vej'g. Yes, in truth it is, sir. Leon. What is it, my good friends ? Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire they were ; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I. Dog. Comparisons are odorous : pala- bras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 20 Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers ; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah ? Dog. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more than 'tis; for I hear as good ex- clamation on your worship as of any man in the city ; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. 30 Verg. And so am I. Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence, ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. Dog. A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out : God help us ! it is a world to see. Well said, i' faith, neigh- bour Verges: well, God's a good man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest soul, i' faith, sir ; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread ; but God is to be worshipped ; all men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. Dog. Gifts that God gives. Leon. I must leave you. Dog. One word, sir : our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before your worship. Leon. Take their examination yourself and bring it me : I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. Dog. It shall be sufifigance. Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. Enter a Messenger. iMess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. 60 Leon. I '11 wait upon them : I am ready. \Exe71nt Leonato and Messenger. Dog. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol : we are now to examination these men, Vej'g. And we must do it wisely. Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; here 's that shall drive some of them to a noncome : only get the learned writer to set down our excom- munication and meet me at the gaol. \Exeimt. ACT IV. Scene I. A chnrch. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leo- nato, Friar Francis, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, and attendants. Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards. Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady. Cland. No. SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 205 Leojt. To be married to her : friar, you come to marry her. Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count. 10 Hero. I do. Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it. Claud. Know you any. Hero ? Hero. None, my lord. Fiiar. Know you any, count ? Leon. I dare make his answer, none. Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do ! 21 Bene. How now! interjections? "Why, then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he ! Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave : Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter ? Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 30 Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. There, Leonato, take her back again : Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; She's but the sign and semblance of her honour. Behold how like a maid she blushes here ! O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! Comes not that blood as modest evidence To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear. All you that see her, that she were a maid, 40 By these exterior shows ? But she is none : She knows the heat of a luxurious bed ; Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? Claud. Not to be married, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof. Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity, — Claud. I know what you would say : if I have known her. You will say she did embrace me as a husband, 50 And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large ; But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity and comely love. Llero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ? Claud. Out on thee ! Seeming ! I will write against it : You seem to me as Dian in her orb, As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; But you are more intemperate in your blood 60 Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals That rage in savage sensuality. Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ? Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? D. Pedro. What should I speak ? I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream ? D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Bejie. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero. True! O God! Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? 70 Is this the prince ? is this the prince's brother ? Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own ? L^eon. All this is so : but what of this, my lord ? ^ Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter; And, by that fatherly and kindly power That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 2o6 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT IV Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero. O, God defend me ! how am I beset ! "What kind of catechising call you this ? Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 80 Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name With any just reproach ? Claitd. Marry, that can Hero ; Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yester- night Out at your window betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, I am sorry you must hear : upon mine honour. Myself, my brother and this grieved count Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night 91 Talk with a ruffian at her chamber- window ; Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, Confess'd the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret, D. John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be named, my lord. Not to be spoke of: There is not chastity enough in language Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. Claud. O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been, loi If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart ! But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety and impious purity ! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang. To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. Leo7i. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? \Hero sivootis. Beat. Why, how now, cousin ! where- fore sink you down? iii D. John. Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light. Smother her spirits up. [£xeunl Don Pedro, Don John, and Claicdio. Bene. How doth the lady? Beat. Dead, I think. Help, uncle! Hero! why. Hero! Uncle! Signior Bene- dick ! Friar ! Leon. O Fate ! take not away thy heavy hand. Death is the fairest cover for her shame That may be wish'd for. Beat. How now, cousin Hero ! Friar. Have comfort, lady. Leon. Dost thou look up? 120 Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not ? Leon. Wherefore ! Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood ? Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames. Myself would, on the rearward of re- proaches. Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one ? Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one? 131 Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? Why had I not with charitable hand Took up a beggar's issue at my gates, Who smirched thus and mired with infamy, I might have said ' No part of it is mine ; This shame derives itself from unknown loins '? But mine and mine I loved and mine T praised 8CENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 207 And mine that I was proud on, mine so much That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her, — why, she, O, she is fallen 141 Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again And salt too little which may season give To her foul-tainted flesh ! _Bene. Sir, sir, be patient. For my part, I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say. Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ? Beat. No, truly not ; although, until last night, 150 I have this twelvemonth been her bed- fellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is stronger made Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie. Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ! let her die. Friar. Hear me a little ; for I have only been Silent so long and given way unto fThis course of fortune .... By noting of the lady I have mark'd 160 A thousand blushing apparitions To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness beat away those blushes ; And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire. To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool ; Trust not my reading nor myobservations. Which with experimental seal doth war- rant The tenour of my book ; trust not my age. My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 170 If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some biting error. Leon. Friar, it cannot be. Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left Is that she will not add to her damnation A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse That which appears in proper nakedness ? Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accused of? Hero. They know that do accuse me ; I know none : If I know more of any man alive 180 Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant. Let all my sins lack mercy ! O my father. Prove you that any man with me con- versed At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight Maintain 'd the change of words with any creature. Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death ! Friar. There is some strange mispri- sion in the princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour ; And if their wisdoms be misled in this. The practice of it lives in John the bastard. Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. Leo7t. I know not. If they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honour. The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention. Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awaked in such a kind, Both strength of limb and policy of mind. Ability in means and choice of friends, To quit me of them throughly. Friar. Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you in this case. 208 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT IV Your daughter here the princes left for dead : Let her awhile be secretly kept in, And publish it that she is dead indeed ; Maintain a mourning ostentation And on your family's old monument Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites That appertain unto a burial. 210 Leon. What shall become of this? what will this do ? Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : But not for that dream I on this strange course. But on this travail look for greater birth. She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, Upon the instant that she was accused, Shall be lamented, pitied and excused Of every hearer : for it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth 220 Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio : When he shall hear she died upon his words. The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination. And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit. More moving-delicate and full of life, 230 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she lived indeed ; then shall he mourn, If ever love had mterest in his liver. And wish he had not so accused her. No, though he thought his accusation true. Let this be so, and doubt not but success Will fashion the event in better shape Than I can lay it down in likelihood. But if all aim but this be levell'd false, The supposition of the lady's death 240 Will quench the wonder of her infamy: And if it sort not well, you may conceal her. As best befits her wounded reputation. In some reclusive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : And though you know my inwardness and love Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this As secretly and justly as your soul 250 Should with your body. Leon. Being that I flow in grief. The smallest twine may lead me. Friar. 'Tis well consented : presently away; For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. Come, lady, die to live : this wedding-day Perhaps is but prolong'd : have patience and endure. \Exeiint all but Benedick and Beatrice. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not desire that. Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely. 260 Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her ! Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship ? Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. Bene. May a man do it ? Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you : is not that strange ? 270 Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin. SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 209 Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beat. Do not swear, and eat it. Bene. I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word ? Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee. Beat. Why, then, God forgive me ! Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour : I was about to protest I loved you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with so much of my heait that none is left to protest. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 290 Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Beat. I am gone, though I am here : there is no love in you : nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, — Beat. In faith, I will go. Bene. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy. 301 Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman ? O that I were a man ! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands ; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, — O God, that I were a man ! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Bene. Hear me, Beatrice, — 310 Beat. Talk with a man out at a win- dow ! A proper saying ! Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice, — Beat. Sweet Hero ! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Bene. Beat — Beat. Princes and counties ! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his sake ! or VOL. I. that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee. Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. 330 Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero ? Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul. Bene. Enough, I am engaged ; I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin : I must say she is dead: and so, farewell. {Exennt. Scene II. A prison. Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gcnvns ; and the Watch, with CoN- RADE and BORACHIO. Dog. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. Sex. Which be the malefactors ? Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner. V^erg. Nay, that 's certain ; we have the exhibition to examine. Sex. But which are the offenders that are to be examined ? let them come before master constable. Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend? ii Bora. Borachio. Dog. Pray, write down, Borachio, Yours, sirrah ? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. Dog. Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God ? Bora. I^^"^' ^^''' ^'^ ^°P^* 2IO MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT V Dog. Write down, that they hope they serve God : and write God first ; for God defend but God should go before such villains ! Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves ; and it v^'xW go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; but I will go about with him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear : sir, I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves. 30 Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none. Dog. Well, stand aside. 'Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they are none ? Sex, Master constable, you go not the way to examine : you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let the watch come forth. Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men. 40 First Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain. Dog. Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. Bora. Master constable, — Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace : I do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sex. What heard you him say else ? Sec. Watch. Marry, that he had re- ceived a thousand ducats of Don John for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully. Dog. Flat burglary as ever was com- mitted. Verg. Yea, by mass, that it is. Sex. What else, fellow ? First Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. Dog. O villain ! thou wilt be con- demned into everlasting redemption for this. Sex. What else ? 60 Watch. This is all. Sex. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this suddenly died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's : I will go before and show him their examination. \^Exit. Dog. Come, let them be opinioned. Verg. fLet them be in the hands — Con. Off, coxcomb! 71 Dog. God 's my life, where 's the sexton ? let him write down the prince's officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet! Con, Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place ? dost thou not suspect my years ? O that he were here to write me down an ass ! But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer, and, which is more, a householder, and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina, and one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns and every thing handsome about him. Bring him away. O that I had been writ down an ass! \Exeimt. ACT V. vScENE L Before Leonato's house. Enter Leonato and Antonio. Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief Against yourself. Leon. I pray tliee, cease thy counsel. Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; Nor let no comforter delight mine car SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 211 But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a fatlier that so loved his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, And bid him speak of patience; lo Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine And let it answer every strain for strain, As thus for thus and such a grief for such, In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : If such a one will smile and stroke his beard, fBid sorrow wag, cry 'hem!' when he should groan. Patch grief with proverbs, make misfor- tune drunk With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience. But there is no such man : for, brother, men 20 Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it. Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words : No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow. But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure 30 The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement. Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. Leon. I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood ; For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods And made a push at chance and sufferance. Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; Make those that do offend you suffer too. Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will do so. 41 My soul doth tell me Hero is belied ; And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the prince And all of them that thus dishonour her. Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. D. Pedro. Good den, good den. Claud. Good day to both of you. Leon. Hear you, my lords, — D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. Leon. Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you well, my lord: Are you so hasty now ? well, all is one. D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. 50 Ant. If he could right himself with quarreling, Some of us would lie low. Claitd. Who wrongs him ? L.eon. Marry, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissembler, thou : — Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy swtn'd ; I fear thee not. Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear: In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. Leon. Tush, tush, man ; never fleer and jest at me : I speak not like a dotard nor a fool, As under privilege of age to brag 60 What I have done being young, or what would do Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head, Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me That I am forced to lay my reverence by And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days. Do challenge thee to trial of a man. I say thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 212 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT V Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she hes buried with her ancestors; O, in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hers, framed by thy villany ! Claud. My villany ? Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. Leon. My lord, my lord, I'll prove it on his body, if he dare, Despite his nice fence and his active practice. His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you. Leon. Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast kill'd my child : If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : 80 But that's no matter; let him kill one first ; Win me and wear me ; let him answer me. Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me: Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence ; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. Leon. Brother, — Anl. Content yourself. God knows I loved my niece; And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains, That dare as well answer a man indeed As I dare take a serpent by the tongue: Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! Leoji. Brother Antony, — Ant. Hold you content. What, man ! I know them, yea. And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruj^le, — Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys. That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander. Go anticly, show outward hideousness. And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst ; And this is all. Leoit. But, brother Antony, — Ant. Come, 'tis no matter : Do not you meddle ; let me deal in this. loi D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. My heart is sorry for your daughter's death : But, on my honour, she was charged with nothing But what was true and very full of proof. Leoit. My lord, my lord, — D. Pedro. I will not hear you. Leon. No ? Come, brother ; away ! I will be heard. Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we went to seek. no Enter Benedick. Claud. Now, signior, what news ? Bene. Good day, my lord. D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : you are almost come to part almost a fray. Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth. D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What tliinkest thou ? Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for them. Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you both. Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; for we are high-proof melan- choly and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit ? Bene. It is in my scabbard : shall I draw it ? D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. D, Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry ? Claud. What, courage, man ! What SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 213 though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me. I pray you choose another subject. Claud. Nay, then, give him another staff : this last was broke cross. D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more : I think he be angry indeed. 141 Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! Bene. [Aside to Claudid\ You are a villain ; I jest not ; I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you. Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. D. Pedro. What, a feast, a feast ? Claud. I' faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to a calf's head and a capon ; the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too ? Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: 'True,' said she, 'a fine little one.' 'No,' said I, 'a great wit : ' ' Right,' says she, ' a great gross one.' 'Nay,' said I, ' a good wit : ' ' Just, ' said she, ' it hurts nobody. ' ' Nay, ' said I, ' the gentleman is wise : ' ' Cer- tain,' said she, ' a wise gentleman. ' ' Nay, ' said I, ' he hath the tongues : ' ' That I believe,' said she, ' for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he for- swore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue ; there's two tongues.' Thus did she, an, hour together, trans- shape thy particular virtues : yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not. D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 180 Claud. All, all ; and, moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden. Z>. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Bene- dick's head ? Clajui. Yea, and text underneath, ' Here dwells Benedick the married man ' ? Bene. Fare you well, boy : you know my mind. I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour : you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you : I must discontinue your company : your brother the bastard is fled from Messina : you have among you killed a sweet and inno- cent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and I shall meet : and, till then, peace be with him. [Exit. D. Pedro. He is in earnest. Claud. In most profound earnest ; and, I'll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice. D. Pedj'o. And hath challenged thee. Claud. Most sincerely. 201 D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit ! Claiui. He is then a giant to an ape ; but then is an ape a doctor to such a man. D. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be : pluck up, my heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my brother was fled ? Enter Dogberry, Verges, attd the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Dog. Come you, sir : if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance : nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be. looked to. D. Pedro. How now ? two of my brother's men bound ! Borachio one ! Clajid. Hearken after their offence, my lord. D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done ? \ 214 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT V Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false report ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; secondarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust things ; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done ; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and lastly, why they are committed ; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge. Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. 231 D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood : what's your offence ? Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to mine answer: do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have de- ceived even your very eyes : what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light ; who in the night overheard me confessing to this man how Don John your brother in- censed me to slander the Lady Hero, how you were brought into the orchard and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments, how you disgraced her, when you should marry her : my villany they have upon record ; which I had rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation ; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain. 251 D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood ? Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this ? Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it. D. Pedro. He is composed and framed of treachery : And fled he is upon this villany. Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that I loved it first. Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs : by this time our sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter : and, masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. Verg. Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too. Re-enter Leonato aw^ Antonio, with the Sexton. Leon. Which is the villain ? let me see his eyes. That, when I note another man like him, I may avoid him : which of these is he ? Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me. Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd Mine innocent child ? Bora. Yea, even I alone. Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou beliest thyself : Here stand a pair of honourable men ; A third is fled, that had a hand in it. I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death : Record it with your high and worthy deeds: 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 280 Claud. I know not how to pray your patience ; Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not But in mistaking. D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I : And yet, to satisfy this good old man, I would bend under any heavy weight That he'll enjoin me to. I^eon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live ; That were impossible : but, I pray you both, Possess the people in Messina here 290 How innocent she died ; and if your love Can labour aught in sad invention, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb SCENE I MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 215 And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night : To-morrow morning come you to my house, And since you could not be my son-in- law, Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter, Almost the copy of my child that's dead, And she alone is heir to both of us : Give her the right you should have given her cousin, 300 And so dies my revenge. Clmid. O noble sir, Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me ! I do embrace your offer; and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudio. Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; To-night I take my leave. This naughty man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong. Hired to it by your brother. Bora. No, by my soul, she was not, Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me, 310 But always hath been just and virtuous In any thing that I do know by her. Dog. Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed : they say he wears a key in his ear and a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's name, the which he hath used so long and never paid that now men grow hard-hearted and will lend nothing for God's sake : pray you, examine him upon that point. Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth ; and I praise God for you. Leon. There's for thy pains. Dog. God save the foundation ! Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ; which I beseech your worship to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your worship ! I wish your worship well ; God restore you to health ! I humbly give you leave to de- part ; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it ! Come, neigh- bour. \Exennt Dogberry and Verges. Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Ant. Farewell, my lords : we look for you to-morrow. D. Pedro. We will not fail. Cland. To-night I '11 mourn with Flero. I^eon. [To the Watc/i] Bring you these fellows on. We'll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. [Lxennt, severally. Scene H. Leonato's ^vzrrt'^;?. En'er Benedick and Margaret, meeting. Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Mar- garet, deserve well at my hands by help- ing me to ihe speech of Beatrice. Marg. Will you then write me a son- net in praise of my beauty ? Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it ; for, in most comely truth, thou de- servest it. Marg. To have no man come over me ! why, shall I always keep below stairs ? 10 Detie. Thy wit is as quick as the grey- hound's mouth ; it catches. Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not. Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret ; it will not hurt a woman : and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice : I give thee the bucklers. Marg. Give us the swords ; we have bucklers of our own. Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids. Marg. Well, I will call Beatrix- to you, who I think hath legs. 2l6 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING ACT V Bene. And therefore will come. {Exit Margaret. \_Si7igs\ The god of love, That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve, — I mean in singing ; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first em- ployer of pandars, and a whole bookful of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have tried : I can find out no rhyme to ' lady' but ' baby,' an innocent rhyme ; for ' scorn,' ' horn,' a hard rhyme; for 'school,' 'fool,' a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : no, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. 41 Enter Beatrice. Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee ? Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. Bene. O, stay but till then! Beat. ' Then ' is spoken; fare you well now : and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came ; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio. Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will kiss thee. 51 Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is ix)isome; therefore I will de- part unkissed. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? 61 Br-at. For them all together ; which ;j^ "lintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to inter- mingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me? Bene. Suffer love ! a good epithet ! 1 do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will. Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas, poor heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession : there's not one Avise man among twenty that will praise himself. Be7ie. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps. Beat. And how long is that, think you ? Bene. Question : why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum : there- fore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no im- pediment to the contrary, to be the trum- pet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I my- self will bear witness, is praiseworthy : and now tell me, how doth your cousin ? Beat. Very ilk Bene. And how do you ? Beat. Very ill too. Bene. Serve God, love me and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder 's old coil at home : it is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently ? Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes ; and SCENE III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 217 moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeimt. Scene III. A church. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and three or four with tapers. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ? A Lord. It is, my lord. Claud. \Reading out of a scroll'\ Done to death by slanderous tongues Was the Hero that here lies: Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, Gives her fame which never dies. So the life that died with shame Lives in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there upon the tomb, Praising her when I am dumb. 10 Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. Song. Pardon, goddess of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight; For the which, with songs of woe. Round about her tomb they go. Midnight, assist our moan; Help us to sigh and groan. Heavily, heavily : Graves, yawn and yield your dead. Till death be uttered, 20 Heavily, heavily. Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! Yearly will I do this rite. D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put your torches out: The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day. Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. Thanks to you all, and leave us : fare you well. Cla7id. Good morrow, masters : each his several way. D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds ; 30 And then to Leonato's we will co. Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's Than this for whom we render'd up this woe. \Exeiint. Scene IV. A room in Leonato's house. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula, Friar Francis, and Hero. Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accused her Upon the error that you heard debated : But Margaret was in some fault for this. Although against her will, as it appears In the true course of all the question. Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforced To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentle- women all, 10 Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves. And when I send for you, come hither mask'd. [Exeunt Ladies. The prince and Claudio promised by this hour To visit me. You know your office, brother : You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. Ant. Which I will do with confirm' d countenance. Be?te. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, signior? Bene. To bind me, or undo me ; one of them. 20 Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. Leon. That eye my daughter lent her : 'tis most true. Be7te. And I do with an eye of love requite her. I^eon. The sight whereof I think you had from me, 2l8 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING Af'T V From Claudio and the prince : but what 's your will ? Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmati- cal : But, for my will, my will is your good will May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd In the state of honourable marriage : 30 In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. Leon. My heart is with your liking. Friar. And my help. Here comes the prince and Claudio. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, and two or three others. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow, Claudio : We here attend you. Are you yet deter- mined To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? Clatid. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. Leon. Call her forth, brother ; here 's the friar ready. \Exit Antonio. D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter, 40 That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudi- ness ? Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull. Tush, fear not, man ; we'll tip thy horns with gold And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, As once Europa did at lusty Jove, When he would play the noble beast in love. Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow, And got a calf in that same noble feat 50 Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. Claud. For this I owe you : here comes other reckonintrs. Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies J} I asked. Which is the lady I must seize upon? A7it. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let me see your face. Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar and swear to marry her. Clatid. Give me your hand : before this holy friar, I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : \Unmasking. And when you loved, you were my other husband. 61 Claud. Another Hero ! Hero. Nothing certainer : One Hero died defiled, but I do live, And surely as I live, I am a maid. D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived. Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; When after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: Meantime let wonder seem familiar, 70 And to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice ? Beat. {Unmaskini^ I answer to that name. What is your will ? Bene. Do not you love me ? Beat. Why, no ; no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio Have been deceived ; they swore you did. Beat. Do not you love me ? Bene. Troth, no ; no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret and Ursula SCENE IV MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 219 Are much deceived ; for they did swear you did. Bene. They swore that you were ahuost sick for me. 80 Beat. They swore that you were well- nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me ? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recom- pense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her ; For here's a paper written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice. He7-o. And here's another Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket. Containing her affection unto Benedick. Be}ie. A miracle ! here's our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by this* light, I take thee for pity. Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good day, I yield upon great per- suasion ; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption. Beiic. Peace 1 I will stop your mouth. \_Kissing her. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? 100 Be7ie. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be my kins- man, live unbruised and love my cousin. Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. Bene. Come, come, we are friends : let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels. 121 Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. Bene. First, of my word ; therefore play, music. Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight. And brought with armed men back to Messina. Bene. Think not on him till to- morrow: I'll devise thee brave punish- ments for him. Strike up, pipers. 131 [Dance. Exeunt. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST DRAMATIS PERSON/E. Ferdinand, king of Navarre. T ' lords attending on the LONGAVILLE, r t<7^ • DUMAIN, j "^^' BoYET, 1 lords attending on the Mercade, j Princess of BYance. Don Adriano de Armado, a fan- tastical Spaniard. Sir Nathaniel, a curate. HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster. Dull, a constable. Costard, a clown. Moth, page to Armado. A Forester.' The Princess of PYance. Rosaline, "j , . Maria Y attendmg on the ' f Princess. Katharine, J Jaquenetta, a country wench. Lords, Attendants, etc. Scene : Navarre. ACT L Scene L The king of Naval-re's park. Enter Ferdinand, h'ng of "N ay arre, Biron, Longaville, and Domain. King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives. Live register'd upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors, — for so you are, That war against your own affections And the huge army of the world's de- sires, ID Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longa- ville, Have sworn for three years' term to live with me My fellow -scholars and to keep those statutes That are recorded in this schedule here: Your oaths are pass'd ; and now subscribe your names, That his own hand may strike his honour down 20 That violates the smallest branch herein : If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. Long. I am resolved ; 'tis but a three years' fast : The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. Dnm. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified : The grosser manner of these world's delights He throw^s upon the gross world's baser slaves: 30 To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die; With all these living in philosophy. Biron. I can but say their protestation over; SCENE I LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 221 I So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, That is, to live and study here three years. But there are other strict observances; As, not to see a woman in that term, Which I hope well is not enrolled there ; And one day in a week to touch no food And but one meal on every day beside. The which I hope is not enrolled there ; And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, And not be seen to wink of all the day — When I was wont to think no harm all night And make a dark night too of half the day — Which I hope well is not enrolled there: O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep ! King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. Biroii. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please : 50 I only swore to study with your grace And stay here in your court for three years' space. Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. What is the end of study ? let me know. King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense ? King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Biron. Come on, then ; I will swear to study so, To know the thing I am forbid to know : As thus, — to study where I well may dine, When I to feast exjjressly am forbid ; Or study where to meet some mistress fine. When mistresses from common sense are hid ; Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath, Study to break it and not break my troth. If study's gain be thus and this be so, Study knows that which yet it doth not know : Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. King. These be the stops that hinder study quite 70 And train our intellects to vain delight. Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that most vain, Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain : As, painfully to pore upon a book To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look: Light seeking light doth light of light beguile : So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. Study me how to please the eye indeed By fixing it upon a fairer eye, 8r Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed And give him light that it was blinded Study is like the heaven's glorious sun That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks : Small have continual plodders ever won Save base authority from others' books. Tiiese earthly godfathers of heaven's lights That give a name to every fixed star Have no more profit of their shining nights Than those that walk and wot not what they are. 91 Too much to know is to know nought but fame ; And every godfather can give a name. King. How well he's read, to reason against reading ! Dtini. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding ! Long. He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding. Biron. The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding. Diun. How follows that ? Biron. Fit in his place and time. Dtim. In reason nothing. Biron. Something then in rhyme. King. Biron is like an envious sneap- ing frost 100 That bites the first-born in- fants of the spring. 222 LOVE'S LABOUR'S L.OST ACT I Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud summer boast Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in any abortive birth ? At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth ; But like of each thing that in season grows. So you, to study now it is too late, Climb o'er the house to unlock the little ^gate. King. Well, sit you out : go home, l]ir>)n: adieu. no Biron. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay with you : And though I have for barbarism spoke more Than for that angel knowledge you can say. Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore And bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the paper ; let me read the same ; x\nd to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. ICing. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame ! Biron [_rt'a(is\. ' Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court:' Hath this been proclaimed ? 121 Long. Four days ago. Biron. Let's see the penalty. \^Reads\ ' On pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty ? Long. Marry, that did I. Biron. Sweet lord, and why? Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. Biron. A dangerous law against gen- tility! \Reads\ ' Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.' . This article, my liege, yourself must break ; For well you know here comes in embassy The French king's daughter with yourself to speak — A maid of grace and complete majesty — About surrender up of Aquitaine To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father: Therefore this article is made in vain. Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. 141 Lining. What say you, lords ? why, this was quite forgot. Biron. So study evermore is overshot: While it doth study to have what it would It doth forget to do the thing it should, And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost. LCing. We must of force dispense with this decree ; She must lie here on mere necessity. Biron. Necessity will make us all for- sworn 150 Three thousand times within this three years' space ; P'or every man with liis affects is born, Not by might master'd but by special grace : If I break faith, this word shall speak for me ; I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.' So to the laws at large I write my name : [^Siibscribes. And he that breaks them in the least degree Stands in attainder of eternal shame : Suggestions are to other as to me; But I believe, although I seem so loath, I am the last that will last keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted ? King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted With a refined traveller of Spain ; A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain ; One whom the music of his own vain tongue Doth ravish like enchanting harmony ; A man of complements, whom right and wrong Have chose as umpire of their mutiny: This child of fancy that Armado hight SCENE I LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 223 For interim to our studies shall relate In high-born words the worth of many a knight From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. How you delight, my lords, 1 know not, I; But, I protest, I love to hear him lie And I will use him for my minstrelsy. Biron. Armado is a most ilhistrious wiglit, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Lojig. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport; 180 And so to study, three years is but short. Enter Dull zvith a letter, rt«c/ Costard. Djtll. Which is the duke's own person? Biron. This, fellow : what wouldst ? Dull. I myself reprehend his own per- son, for I am his grace's tharborough : but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. Biron. This is he. Dnll. Signior Arme — Arme — com- mends you. There's villany abroad : this letter will tell you more. 190 Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. Long. A high hope for a low heaven : God grant us patience ! Biron. To hear ? or forbear laughing ? Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to forbear both. Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb in the merriness. Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as con- cerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. Biron. In what manner ? Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; all those three : I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park ; which, put together, is in manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner, — it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman : for the form, — in some form. Biron. For the following, sir? Cost. As it shall follow in my correc- tion: and God defend the right! King. Will you hear this letter with attention ? Biron. As we would hear an oracle. Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. 220 King\reads\ 'Great deputy, the wel- kin's vicegerent and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god, and body's fostering patron.' Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. King \reads\ ' So it is,' — Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he is, in telling true, but so. King. Peace ! Cost. Be to me and every man that dares not fight ! 230 King. No words ! Cost. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you. King \i-cads\ ' So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I did com- mend the black-oppressing humour to the most wholesome physic of thy health- giving air ; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The time when. About the sixth hour; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which iscalled supper: so much for the time when. Now for the ground which ; which, I mean, I walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where ; where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene and most prepos- terous event, that draweth from my snow- white pen the ebon -coloured ink, which here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest : but to the place where ; it standeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden : there did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,' — Cost. Me? King \i-eads\. ' that unlettered small- knowing soul,' — Cost. Me? King\reads\ 'that shallow vassal,' — 224 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT I Cost. Still me? King [reads]. ' which, as I remember, hight Costard,' — Cost. O, me ! 260 /^zng [reads]. ' sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed edict and continent canon, which with, — O, with — but with this I passion to say wherewith, — Cost. With a wench. Lang [reads]. ' with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female ; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Anthony Dull ; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.' Du//. Me, an 't shall please you ; I am Anthony Dull. King [reads]. ' For Jaquenetta, — so is the weaker vessel called which I appre- hended with the aforesaid swain, — I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury ; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all compli- ments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty. 280 Don Adriano de Armado.' Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but the best that ever I heard. King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this ? Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. ICing. Did you hear the proclamation ? Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. King. It was proclaimed a year's im- prisonment, to be taken with a wench. Cost. I was taken with none, sir : I was taken with a damsel. King. Well, it was proclaimed 'damsel.' Cost. This was no damsel neither, sir ; she was a virgin. King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed 'virgin.' Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity : I was taken with a maid. King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 300 Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. King. Sir, I will pronounce your sen- tence : you shall fast a week with bran and water. Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. Ki7ig. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er : And go we, lords, to put in practice that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exennt King^ Longaville, and Diivtain. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, 310 These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on. Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir ; for true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl ; and there- fore welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again ; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow! [Exennt. Scene II. The savie. Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows melancholy ? Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Ann. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. Afoth. No, no ; O Lord, sir, no. Aj'vi. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender ju venal ? Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior. 10 Ann. Why tough senior? why tough senior ? Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender Juvenal ? Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender. Afoth. And I, tough senior, as an ap- pertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. SCENE jr LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 225 Arm. Pretty and apt. Moih. How mean you, sir ? I pretty, and my saying apt ? or I apt, and my say- ing pretty ? Ann. Thou pretty, because little. Moth. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt ? Arm. And therefore apt, becausequick. Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ? Arm. In thy condign praise. Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. Ar7n. What, that an eel is ingenious ? JlLoth. That an eel is quick. 30 Arm. I do say thou art quick in an- swers : thou heatest my blood. Moih. I am answered, sir. Arm. I love not to be crossed. Moth. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary ; crosses love not him. Arm. I have projjnised to study three years with the duke. ■ Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. H Arm. Impossil^le. 40 H Moth. How many is one thrice told ? ^ Arm. I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both : they are both the varnish of a complete man. Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 50 Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. Arm. True. Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three studied, ere ye'U thrice wink : and how easy it is to put 'years' to the word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the danc- ing horse will tell you. Arm. A most fine figure ! Moth. To prove you a cipher. Arm. I will hereupon confess I am in love : and as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. VOT.. I If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised cour- tesy. I think scorn to sigh : methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : what great men have been in love ? Moth. Hercules, master. Ami. Most sweet Hercules ! More authority, dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. Moth. Samson, master : he was a man of good carriage, great carriage, for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter : and he was in love. Ari7i. O well - knit Samson ! strong- jointed Samson ! I do excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carry- ing gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth ? 80 Moth. A woman, master. Arm. Of what complexion ? Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four. Arjn. Tell me precisely of what com- plexion. Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. Arf?i. Is that one of the four com- plexions ? Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of them too. Arm. Green indeed is the colour of lovers ; but to have a love of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He surely affected her for her wit. Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours. Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant, Mo!h. My father's wit and my mother's tongue, assist me ! loi Ar7n. Sweet invocation of achild ; most pretty and pathetical ! Moth. If she be made of white and red, Her faults will ne'er be known, 0 226 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT I For blushing cheeks by faults are bred And fears by pale white shown : Then if she fear, or be to blame, By this you shall not know, For still her cheeks possess the same Which native she doth owe. iii A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. Ami. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar ? Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since : but I think now 'tis not to be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writ- ing nor the tune. Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digres- sion by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard : she deserves well. Moth. \^Aside\ To be whipped ; and yet a better love than my master. Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. Ann. I say, sing. 130 Moth. Forbear till this company be past. Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard safe : and you must suifer him to take no delight nor no pen- ance ; but a' must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park : she is allowed for the day- woman. Fare you well. Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid ! Jaq. Man? Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. Jaq. That's hereby. 141 Arm. I know where it is situate. /aq. Lord, how wise you are ! Arm. I will tell thee wonders. Jaq. With that face ? Ar77i. J love thee. Jaq. So I heard you say. Arm. And so, farewell. Jaq. Fair weather after you ! Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away! 150 \Excnnt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be pardoned. Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach. Ar?n. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. Arm. Take away this villain ; shut him up. Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away ! Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir : I will fast, being loose. 161 Moth. No, sir ; that were fast and loose : thou shalt to prison. Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see. Moth. What shall some see ? Cost. Nay, nothing. Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their words; and therefore I will say nothing : I thank God I have as little patience as another man ; and therefore I can be quiet. 171 [Exeuftt Moth and Costard. Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument of falsehood, if I love. And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted ? Love is a familiar ; Love is a devil : there is no evil angel but Love. Yet was Sam- son so tempted, and he had an excellent strength ; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club ; and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not serve my turn ; the passado he respects not, the duello he regaais not : his disgrace is to be called boy; but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour I SCENE II LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 2TJ rust, rapier ! be still, drum ! for your manager is in love ; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. De- vise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. \^Exil. ACT II. SCENE I. The same. Enter the Princess of France, Rosa- line, Maria, Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants. Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits : Consider who the king your father sends. To whom he sends, and what's his embassy : Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, To parley with the sole inheritor Of all perfections that a man may owe, Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. Be now as prodigal of all dear grace As Nature was in making graces dear When she did starve the general world beside 1 1 And prodigally gave them all to you. Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise : Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye. Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues : I am less proud to hear you tell my worth Than you much willing to be counted wise In spending your wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker : good Boyet, You are not ignorant, all-telling fame Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, Till painful study shall outwear three years, No woman may approach his silent court : Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf, Bold of your worthiness, we single you As our best-moving fair solicitor. Tell him, the daughter of the King oi France, 30 On serious business, craving quick dis- patch, Importunes personal conference with his grace : Haste, signify so much; while we attend, Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will. Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. \Exit Boyet. Who are the votaries, my loving lords, That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke ? First Lord. Lord Longaville is one. Prin. Know you the man ? Mar. I know him, madam : at a marriage-feast, 40 Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized In Normandy, saw I this Longaville: A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms : Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil. Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will; Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills 50 It should none spare that come within his power. Prin. Some merry mocking lord, be- like ; is't so? Afar. They say so most that most his humours know. Prin. Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow. Who are the rest ? Kath. The young Dumain, a well- accomplished youth. Of all that virtue love for virtue loved : Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 60 228 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT II I saw him at the Duke Alen9on's once; And much too Httle of that good I saw Is my report to his great worthiness. Ros. Another of these students at that time Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, Delivers in such apt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse. Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love, That every one her own hath garnished With such bedecking ornaments of praise? First Lord. Here comes Boyet. Re-enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; 8 1 And he and his competitors in oath Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady. Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt : He rather means to lodge you in the field, Like one that comes here to besiege his court. Than seek a dispensation for his oath, To let you enter his unpeopled house. Here comes Navarre. Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, BiRON, and Attendants. King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. 90 Prin. ' Fair ' I give you back again ; and ' welcome ' I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to be yours ; and welcome to the wide fields too base to be LCing. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. Prin. I will be welcome, then : con- duct me thither. King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. Prin. Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn. King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will and nothing else. 100 Liing. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is, Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise. Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear your grace hath sworn out house- keeping : 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord. And sin to break it. But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold : To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming. And suddenly resolve me in my suit. King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. in Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away; For you '11 prove perjured if you make me stay. Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? Biron. I know you did. Ros. How needless was it then to ask the question ! Biron. You must not be so quick. Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. 120 Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. Biron. What time o' day ? Ros. The hour that fools should ask. Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! SCENE I LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 229 Biron. And send you many lovers ! Ros. Amen, so you be none. Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. King. INIadam, your father here doth intimate The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; 130 Being but the one half of an entire sum Disbursed by my father in his wars. But say that he or we, as neither have. Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the which, One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, Although not valued to the money's worth. If then the king your father will restore But that one half which is unsatisfied, We will give up our right in Aquitaine, And hold fair friendship with his majesty. But that, it seems, he little purposeth, For here he doth demand to have re- paid A hundred thousand crowns ; and not demands, On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, To have his title live in Aquitaine ; Which we much rather had depart withal And have the money by our father lent Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is. Dear princess, were not his requests so far From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 151 A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast And go well satisfied to France again. Pi'in. You do the king my father too much wrong And wrong the reputation of your name, In so unseeming to confess receipt Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. King. I do protest I never heard of it ; And if you prove it, I '11 repay it back Or yield up Aquitaine. Prin, We arrest your word. Boyet, you can produce acquittances For such a sum from special officers Of Charles his father. King. Satisfy me so. Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come Where that and other specialties are bound : To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. King. It shall suffice me : at which interview All liberal reason I will yield unto. Meantime receive such welcome at my hand As honour without breach of honour may Make tender of to thy true worthiness : You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ;^ But here without you shall be so received As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, Though so denied fair harbour in my house. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell : To-morrow shall we visit you again. Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace ! King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place ! \Exit. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. 180 Ros. Pray you, do my commendations ; I would be glad to see it. Birojt. I would you heard it groan. Ros. Is the fool sick ? Biron, Sick at the heart. Ros. Alack, let it blood. Biron. Would that do it good ? Ros. My physic says ' ay. ' Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye ? Ros. No point, with my knife. 190 Biron. Now, God save thy life ! Ros. And yours from long living ! Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. \lietiring. Dnin. Sir, I pray you, a word : what lady is that same ? Boyet. The heir of Alen^on, Katharine her name. Dnm. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. \^Exit. Long. I beseech you a word : what is she in the white ? Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. Long. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name. 230 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT II Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame. 200 Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Long. God's blessing on your beard ! Boyet. Good sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Falconbridge. Long. Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, sir, that may be. \Exit Long. Biron. What's her name in the cap? Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap. 210 Biron. Is she wedded or no ? Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, sir: adieu. Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and wel- come to you. \Exit Biron. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord: Not a word with him but a jest. Boyet. And every jest but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as wilHng to grapple as he was to board. Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry. Boyet. And wherefore not ships ? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 220 Mar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest ? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her. Mar. Not so, gentle beast : My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom ? Mar. To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits will be jangling ; but, gentles, agree : This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused. Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom lies. By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is in- fected. 230 Prin. With what ? Boyet. With that which we lovers en- title affected. Prin. Your reason ? Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : His heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd, Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd : His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be; All senses to that sense did make their repair, 240 To feel only looking on fairest of fair : Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye, As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; Who, tendering their own worth from where they were glass'd, Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd : His face's own margent did quote such amazes That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his, An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. Prin, Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed. Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed. 250 I only have made a mouth of his eye. By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger and speakest skilfully. M,}r. He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news of him. Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? Mar. No. Boyet. What then, do you see ? SCENE I LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 231 Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet. You are too hard for me. \Exeiiiit. ACT III. Scene I. The same. Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense of hearing. Moth. Concolinel. \Singing. Arm. wSweet air ! Go, tenderness of years ; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl ? Artn. How meanest thou? brawling in French ? 10 Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly doublet like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands in your pocket like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humours ; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these ; and make them men of note — do you note me ? — that most are affected to these. Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience ? Moth. By my penny of observation. But O,— but O,— ' The hobby-horse is forgot. ' Callest thou my love ' hobby- 31 No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love ? Arjn. Almost I had. Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. Arm. Moth. Ar)?i. horse ' ? Moth. Arm. By heart and in heart, boy. Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove. Arm. What wilt thou prove? 40 Aloth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant : by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her ; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her ; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. Arm. I am all these three. Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. A I m. Fetch hither the swain : he must carry me a letter. 51 Moth. A message well sympathized ; a horse to be ambassador for an ass. Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou ? Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow- gaited. But I go. Ar7]i. The way is but short: away! Aloth. As swift as lead, sir. Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious ? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, master, no. Ar7?i. I say lead is slow. Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? Artn. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he: I shoot thee at the swain. Moth. Thump then and I flee. \Exit. Arm. A most acute juvenal ; volable and free of grace ! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face : Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd. 70 Re-enter MoTH zvith Costard. Moth. A wonder, master ! here's a costard broken in a shin. Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, thy I'envoy; begin. 2^2 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT III Cost. No egma, no riddle, no Tenvoy; no salve fin the mail, sir : O, sir, plan- tain, a plain plantain ! no I'envoy, no I'envoy ; no salve, sir, but a plantain! An)i. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter ; thy silly thought my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for I'envoy, and the word I'envoy for a salve ? 80 Moth. Do the wise think them other ? is not I'envoy a salve ? Arm, No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it : The fox, the ape and the humble-bee. Were still at odds, being but three. There's the moral. Now the I'envoy. Moth. I will add the I'envoy. Say the moral again. Arj/i. The fox, the ape, the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. 91 Moth . Until the goose came out of door, And stay'd the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my I'envoy. The fox, the ape and the liumble- bee. Were still at odds, being but three. Arm. Until the goose came out of door. Staying the odds by adding four. Moth. A good I'envoy, ending in the goose: would you desire more ? loi Cost. The boy hath sold him a bar- gain, a goose, that's flat. Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose : Let me see; a fat I'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, comehither. How did this argument begin ? Moth. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. Then call'd you for the I'envoy. Cost. True, and I for a plantain : thus came your argument in ; Then the boy's fat I'envoy, the goose that you bought ; no And he ended the market. Arm. But tell me ; how was there a costard broken in a shin ? Moth. I will tell you sensibly. Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak that I'envoy: I Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. T20 Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O, marry me to one Frances : I smell some I'envoy, some goose, in this. Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfrcedoming thy person : thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. Cost. True, true ; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose. Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance ; and, in lieu thereof, im- pose on thee nothing but this : bear this significant \_giving a letter^ to the country maid Jaquenetta : there is remuneration; for the best 'ward of mine honour is re- warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my incony Jew ! \Exit Aloth. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings : three farthings — remuneration. — ' What's the price of this inkle?' — 'One penny.' — 'No, I'll give you a remuneration :' why, it carries it. Remuneration ! why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word. SCENE I LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 233 Enter BiRON. Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly well met. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carna- tion ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration ? Biron. What is a remuneration ? Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing, Biron. Why, then, three - farthing worth of silk. 150 Cost. I thank your worship : God be wi' you ! Biron. Stay, slave ; I must emj^loy thee: As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave. Do one thing for me that I shall en- treat. Cost. When would you have it done, sir? Biron. This afternoon. Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you ■51-ell. Biron. Thou knowest not what it is. Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 160 Cost. I will come to your worship to- morrow morning. Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this : The princess comes to hunt here in the park, And in her train there is a gentle lady; When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name. And Rosaline they call her : ask for her; And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal'd - up counsel. There 's thy guerdon; go. 170 \Giving him a shilling. Cost. Gardon, O sweet garden ! better than remuneration, a'leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon ! I will do it, sir, in print. Gardon ! Remuneration ! \Exit. Biron. And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have been love's whip; A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; A critic, nay, a night-watch constable ; A domineering pedant o'er the boy; Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This wimpled, whining, purblind, way- ward boy; 181 This senior - junior, giant - dwarf, Dan Cupid ; Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms. The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces. Sole imperator and great general Of trotting 'paritors : — O my little heart ! — And I to be a corporal of his field, And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop ! 190 What, I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! A woman, that is like a German clock, Still a-repairing, ever out of frame. And never going aright, being a watch, But being watch'd that it may still go right ! Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all; And, among three, to love the worst of all; A wightly wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes ; Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed 200 Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard : And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan : Some men must love my lady and some Joan. \Exit. 234 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT IV ACT IV. Scene I. The same. Enter the Princess, and her train, a Forester, Boyet, Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine. Frin. Was that the l?i. Relent, sweet Hermia : and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 264 /i MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT I Ege. true, he hath Scornful Lysander ! my love, And what is mine my love sliall render him. And she is mine, and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius. Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he, As well possess'd; my love is more than his; 100 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd. If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am beloved of beauteous Hermia : Why should not I then prosecute my right ? Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. Upon this spotted and inconstant man. The. I must confess that I have heard so much, in And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs. My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ; And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, I have some private schooling for you both. For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father's will ; Or else the law of Athens yields you up — Which by no means M'e may extenuate — To death, or to a vow of single life. 121 Come, myHippolyta: what cheer, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, go along: I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns your- selves. Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. \Exeunt all but Lysander and Herviia. Lys. How now, my love ! why is your cheek so pale ? How chance the roses there do fade so fast? Iler. Belike for want of rain, which 1 could well 130 Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. Lys. Ay me ! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth ; But, either it was different in blood, — Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low. Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of years, — Her. O spite ! too old to be engaged to young. Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice ofjriends, — Her. O hell ! to choose love l)y anotlier seyes. T4C Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound. Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; Brief as the lightning in the collied night. That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth. And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up : So quick bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true lovers have l)een ever cross'd, 150 It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience. Because it is a customary cross. As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs. Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. Lys. A good persuasion : therefore, hear me, Hermia. I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child : From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may T marry thee ; SCENE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 265 And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue iis. If thou lovest me then, Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; And in the wood, a league without tlie town, Where I did meet thee once with Helena, To do observance to a morn of May, There will I stay for thee. Her. My good Lysander ! 1 swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow, ]>y his best arrow with the golden head. By the simplicity of Venus' doves, 171 By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, When the false Troyan under sail was seen, By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke, In that same place thou hast appointed me. To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. Enicr Helena. Her. God speed fair Helena ! whither away ? 180 Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode -stars; and your tongue's sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching : O, were favour so. Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 190 The rest I'ld give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill ! Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Hel. O that my prayers could such affection move ! Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 200 Hel. None, but your beauty : would that fault were mine ! Her. Take comfort : he no more shall see my face ; Lysander and myself will fly this place. Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me: O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell! Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will uAfold : To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the watery glass. Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 211 A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal. Her. And in the wood, where often you and I Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; And thence from Athens turn away our eyes. To seek new friends and stranger com- panies. 266 A MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM ACT 1 Farewell, sweet playfellow : pray thou for us ; 220 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. lys. I will, my Hermia. yExit Henn. Helena, adieu : As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! {Exit. ^ Ilel. How happy some o'er other some can be ! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. lUit what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know : And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes. So I, admiring of his qualities: 231 Things base and vile, holding no quantity. Love can transpose to form and dignity: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : Nor hath Love's minil of any judgement taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste : And therefore is Love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguiled. As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 240 So the boy Love is perjured every where : For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine; And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : Then to the wood will he to-morrow night Pursue her ; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : But herein mean I to enrich my pain. To have his sight thither and back again. {Exit. Scene H. Athens. Quince's hojise. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Quin. Is all our company here ? Bot. You were best to call them gener- ally, man by man, according to the scrip. Qnin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his wedding-day at night. Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on, then read the names of the actors, and so, grow to a point. Qiiifi. Marry, our play is. The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Py ramus and Thisby. Bo'. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves. Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver. Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. 2T Qjiin. You, Nick Bottom, ar'e set down for Pyramus. Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love. Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it : if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. The raging rocks And shivering shocks Shall break the locks Of prison gates; And Phibbus' car Shall shine from far And make and mar The foolish Fates. 40 This was lofty ! Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling. SCENE II J MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM 267 Qiiin, Francis Flute, the bellows- mender. Fill. Here, Peter Quince. Qiiin, Flute, you must take 'I'hisby on you. Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? Qiiin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. Fill. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming. 50 Quill. That 's all one : you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I '11 speak in a monstrous little voice, ' Thisne, Thisne ; ' ' Ah Pyramus, my lover dear ! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear ! ' Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyra- mus : and, Flute, you Thisby. Bot. Well, proceed. Quill. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Star. Here, Peter Quince. 61 Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You, Pyramus' father : myself, Thisby's father. Snug, the joiner ; you, the lion's part: and, I hope, here is a play fitted. Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. 71 Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will r roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; 1 will roar, that I will make the duke say ' Let him roar again, let him roar again.' Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. Atl. That would hang us, every mother's son. Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us : but I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale. Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day ; a most lovely gentleman- like man : therefore you must needs play Pyramus. 91 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ? Quin. Why, what you will. Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple - in - grain beard, or your French -crown -colour beard, your perfect yellow. Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. But, masters, here are your parts : and I am to entreat you, request you and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night ; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight ; there will we re- hearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and courage- ously. Take pains ; be perfect : adieu. Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. Bot. Enough ; hold or cut bow-strings. [Exeunt. ACT II. Scene I. A jvood near Athens. Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and Puck. Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? F'ai. Over hill, over dale. Thorough bush, thorough brier. Over park, over pale. Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, 268 .-^ MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT II Swifter than the moon's sphere ; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be: In their gold coats spots you see; 1 1 Those be rubies, fairy favours. In those freckles live their savours : I must go seek some dewdrops here And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone: Our queen and all her elves come here anon. Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night : Take heed the queen come not within his sight ; For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 20 Because that she as her attendant hath A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; She never had so sweet a changeling; And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; But she perforce withholds the loved boy, Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in grove or green, By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, But they do square, that all their elves for fear 30 Creep into acorn -cups and hide them there. Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite. Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite Call'd Robin Goodfellow : are not you he That frights the maidens of the villagery ; Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern And bootless make the breathless house- wife churn ; And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; Mislead night -wanderers, laughing at their harm ? Those that Hol)goblin call you and sweet Puck, 4c You do their work, and they shall have good luck : Are not you he ? Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile 'When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile. Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. In very likeness of a roasted crab, And when she drinks, against her lips I bob And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. 50 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; Then slip I from her bum, down topples she. And ' tailor ' cries, and falls into a cough ; And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh. And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear A merrier hour was never wasted there. But, room, fairy ! here comes Oberon. Fai, And here my mistress. Would that he were gone ! Enter^ from one side, Oberon, luith his train ; from the other, TiTANiA, zvith hers. Ohe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 60 Tita. AVhat, jealous Oberon ! Fairies, skip hence: I have forsworn his bed and company. Obe. Tarry, rash wanton : am not I thy lord ? Tita. Then I must be thy lady : but I know When thou hast stolen away from fairy land, And in the shape of Corin sat all day. Playing on pipes of corn and versing love 4 SCENE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 269 To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, Come from the farthest steppe of India ? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love, 71 To Theseus must be wedded, and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity. Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? And make him with fair ^gle break his faith. With Ariadne and Antiopa ? 80 Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : And never, since the middle summer's spring. Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead. By paved fountain or by rushy brook. Or in the beached margent of the sea. To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land 90 Have every pelting river made so proud That they have overborne their continents : The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard ; The fold stands empty in the drowned field. And crows are fatted with the murrion flock ; The nine men's morris is fiU'd up with mud, And the quaint mazes in the wanton green For lack of tread are undistinguishable : The human mortals want their winter here; loi No night is now with hymn or carol blest : Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound : And thorough this distemperature we see The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts P'all in the fresh lap of the crimson rose. And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds no Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the summer. The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which : And this same progeny of evils comes From our debate, from our dissension ; We are their parents and original. Obe. Do you amend it then; it lies in you: Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? I do but beg a little changeling boy, 120 To be my henchman. Til a. Set your heart at rest : The fairy land buys not - the child of me. His mother was a votaress of my order: And, in tlie spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossiped by my side, And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, Marking the embarked traders on the flood. When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive x\nd grow big -bellied with the wanton wind ; Which she, with pretty and with swim- ming gait 130 Following, — her womb then rich with my young squire, — - Would imitate, and sail upon the land. To fetch me trifles, and return again, As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 270 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT TI But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; And for her sake do I rear up her boy, And for her sake I will not part with him. Obe. How long within this wood in- tend you stay ? Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wed- ding-day. If you will patiently dance in our round And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; T41 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away! We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. [Exit Tiiania ivith her train. Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this grove Till I torment thee for this injury. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest Since once I sat upon a promontory. And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 150 Uttering such dulcet and harm.onious breath That the rude sea grew civil at her song And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music. Puck. I remember. Obe. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loosed his love -shaft smartly from his bow. As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; 160 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's w^ound. And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower ; the herb I shew'd thee once : The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid W^ill make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again Ere the leviathan can swim a league. Ptick. I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes. \Exit. Obe. Having once this juice, I'll watch Titania when she is asleep. And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. The next thing then she waking looks upon, Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 180 On meddling monkey, or on busy ape. She shall pursue it with the soul of love : And ere I take this charm from off her sight. As I can take it with another herb, I '11 make her render up her page to me. But who comes here ? I am invisible ; And I will overhear their conference. Enter Demetrius, I^ya^ym k following him. Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Plermia ? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood ; 191 And here am I, and wode within this wood. Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant ; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel : leave you your power to draw. And I shall have no power to follow you. SORNE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 271 Dcnu Do I entice you ? do I speak you fair ? Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you? 201 IIcl. And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave. Unworthy as I am, to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love, — And yet a place of high respect with me, — Than to be used as you use your dog? Deni. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, 211 For I am sick when I do look on thee. Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much. To leave the city and commit yourself Into the hands of one that loves you not; To trust the opportunity of night And the ill counsel of a desert place With the rich worth of your virginity. Hel. Your virtue is my privilege : for that 220 It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of com- pany. For you in my respect are all the world : Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me? Dej)i. I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes. And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed : 230 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies. Dem. I will not stay thy questions; let me go : Or, if thou follow me, do not believe Hut I shall do thee mischief in the wood. Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field. You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be woo'd and were not made to woo. \^Exil Dem. I '11 follow thee and make a heaven of hell. To die upon the hand I love so well. \^ExiL Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove, Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love. Re-enter Puck. Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. Ihick. Ay, there it is. Obe. I pray thee, give it me. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, 250 tQuite over-canopied with luscious wood- bine. With sweet musk-roses and with eglan- tine : There sleepsTitaniasometimeof thenight, LuU'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies. Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : A sweet Athenian lady is in love 260 With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes '.\tt( 272 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT II But do it when the next thing he espies May be the lady : thou slialt know the man By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care that he may prove More fond on her than she upon her love : And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. \_Exeii7it. Scene II. Another part of the zuood. Enter TiTANiA, tvith her train. Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; Some to kill cankers in the musk -rose buds. Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings, To make my small elves coats, and some keep back The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; Then to your offices and let me rest. The Fairies sing. You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; lo Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong. Come not near our fairy queen. Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby: Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ; So, good night, with lullaby. Weaving spiders, come not. here ; 20 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence ! I'>eetles black, approach not near; Worm nor snail, do no offence. Philomel, with melody, etc. A Fairy. Hence, away ! now all is well : One aloof stand sentinel. \Exeiint Fairies. Titania sleeps. Enter Oberon, and squeezes the Jloiver on Titania'' s eyelids. Obe. What thou seest when thou dost wake. Do it for thy true-love take. Love and langui.sh for his sake : • Be it ounce, or cat, or l)ear, 30 Pard, or boar with bristled hair, In thy eye that shall appear When thou wakest, it is thy dear : Wake when some vile thing is near. \^Exit. Enter Lysander and Hermia. r.ys. Fair love, you faint with wandei- ing in the wood ; And to speak troth, I have forgot our way: We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed; For I upon this bank will rest my head. Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 41 One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear. Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence ! Love takes the meaning in love's confer- ence. I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit So that but one heart we can make of it; Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; So then two bosoms and a single troth. Then by your side no bed-room me deny; For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : Now much beshrew my manners and my pride. If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy Lie further off; in human modesty. Such separation as may well be said Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, SCENE II A MIDSUMMER'NIGHT'S DREAM 273 \ So far be distant ; and, good night, sweet friend: 60 Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I; And then end life when I end loyalty! Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd ! \They sleep. Enter PuCK. Puck. Through the forest have I gone, But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and silence. — Who is here ? . 70 W'^eeds of Athens he doth wear : This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid ; And here the maiden, sleeping sound, On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul ! she durst not lie Near this lack-love, this kill- courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe. When thou wakest, let love forbid 80 Sleep his seat on thy eyelid: So awake when I am gone ; For I must now to Oberon. {Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. Dein. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go. {Exit. Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! VOL. I. The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; P'or she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 91 How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears : If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; For beasts that meet me run away for fear : Therefore no marvel though Demetrius Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? But who is here ? Lysander ! on the ground ! 100 Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound. Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Lys. \Aii)aking\ And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helena! Nature shows art. That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so. W^hat though he love your Hermia ? Lord, what though ? Yet Flermia still loves you : then be content. no Lys. Content with Hermia ! No ; I do repent The tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia but Helena I love : Who will not change a raven for a dove? The will of man is by his reason sway'd ; And reason says you are the worthier maid. Things growing are not ripe until their season : So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; And touching now the point of human skill, 274 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT Til Reason becomes the marshal to my will And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook 121 Love's stories written in love's richest book. lid. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn ? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can. Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency ? Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do. In such disdainful manner me to woo. But fare you well : perforce I must con- fess 131 I thought you lord of more true gentle- ness. O, that a lady, of one man refused. Should of another therefore be abused ! {Exit. Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there : And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings. Or as the heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did de- ceive, 140 So thou, my surfeit and my heresy. Of all be hated, but the most of me ! And, all my powers, address your love and might To honour Helen and to be her knight ! {Exit. Her. \A%vaking\ Help me, Lysander, help me ! do thy best To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! Lysander, look how I do quake with fear : Methought a serpent eat my heart away, And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander 1 lord ! 151 What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear. No ? then I well perceive you are not nigh : Either death or you I '11 find immediately. {Exit. ACT HL Scene \. The wood. Titania lying asleep. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, a?id Starveling. Bot. Are we all met ? Qiiin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvel- lous convenient place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn - brake our tiring-house ; anci we will do it in action as we will do it before the duke. Bot. Peter Quince, — Qiiin. What sayest thou, bully Bottom ? Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that ? Snout. By'r lakin, a parlous fear. Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done. Bot. Not a whit : I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more better assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : this will put them out of fear. Qnin. Well, we will have such a pro- logue; and it shall be written in eight and six. Bot. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight. SCENE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 275 Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? Star. I fear it, I promise you. Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves : to bring in — God shield us ! — a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living ; and we ought to look to't. Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion. Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck : and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect, — 'Ladies,' — or 'Fair ladies, — I would wish you,' — or ' I would re- quest you,' — or ' I would entreat you, — not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life : no, I am no such thing ; I am a man as other men are;' and there indeed let him name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner. Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things; that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber ; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight. 51 Snout. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play ? Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find out moonshine, find out moonshine. Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. Bot. Why, then may you leave a case- ment of the great chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon may shine in at the casement. Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. Snout. You can never bring in a wall. What say you. Bottom ? Bot. Some man or other must present Wall : and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; and let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake : and so every one according to his cue. Enter Puck behind. Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here, So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? What, a play toward ! I'll be an auditor; 81 An actor too perhaps, if I see cause. Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. Bot. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet, — Quin. Odours, odours. Bot. odours savours sweet : So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. But hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile. And by and by I will to thee appear. {Exit. Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here. \Exit. Flu. Must I speak now? 91 Q?iin. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must understand he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. Flu. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily- white of hue. Of colour like the red rose on tri- umphant brier. Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse that yet would never tire, I '11 meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. Quin. ' Ninus' tomb,' man : why, you must not speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you speak all your part at once, cues and all. Pyramus enter : your cue is past; it is, 'never tire.' 276 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT III Flu. O, — As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire. Re-enter Puck, and Bottom 2vith an ass's head. Bot. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine. Qnin. O monstrous i O strange ! wc are haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! Plelp ! \Exeunt Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Puck. I '11 follow you, I '11 lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier: no Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roai", and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. \^Exit. Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery of them to make me afeard. Re-enter Snout. Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed I what do I see on thee? Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass-head of your own, do you? 120 \^Exit Snout. Re-enter Quince. Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art translated. S^Exit. Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid. \Sings. The ousel cock so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill. The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill, — - 131 Tita. [Awaking] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed ? Bot. [Sifigs] The finch, the sparrow and the lark, The plain -song cuckoo gray. Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay ; — for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry ' cuckoo ' never so ? Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 140 Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note; So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that ; and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days ; the more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion. 15a Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go : Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. I am a spirit of no common rate : The summer still doth tend upon my state ; And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; I '11 give thee fairies to attend on thee. And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 161 And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep : And I will purge thy mortal grossness so That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. Peaseblossom I Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustardseed ! f5CBNE I A MIDSUMMER-mCHT'S DREAM 277 Enter Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and MUSTARDSEED. Peas. Ready, Cob. And I. Moth. And I. Mils. And I. All. Where shall we go? Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes ; Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mul- berries; 170 The honey-bags steal from the humble- bees, And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, To have my love to bed and to arise ; And pluck the wings from painted butter- flies To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. Peas. Hail, mortal ! Cob. Hail! Moth. Hail! 180 Mus. Hail! Bot. I cry your worships mercy, heartily : I beseech your worship's name. Cob. Cobweb. Bot. I shall desire you of more ac- quaintance, good Master Cobweb : if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman ? Peas. Peaseblossom. Bot. I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir ? Mils. Mustardseed. Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well : that same cowardly, giant -like ox -beef hath de- voured many a gentleman of your house : I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire your more acquaintance, good Master Mustard- seed. 201 Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my bower. The moon methinks looks with a watery eye; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, . Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. [Exeunt. Scene H. A not her part of th e wood. Enter Oberon. Obe. I wonder if Titania be awaked ; Then, what it was that next came in her eye. Which she must dote on in extremity. Enter Puck. Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit ! What night-rule now about this haunted grove ? Pnck. My mistress with a monster is in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower. While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, A crew of patches, rude mechanicals. That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 10 Were met together to rehearse a play Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day. The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort. Who Pyramus presented, in their sport Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake : When I did him at this advantage take, An ass's nole I fixed on his head : Anon his Thisbe must be answered. And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy. As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 20 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun's report, Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; 278 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT JTI And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls; He murder cries and help from Athens calls. Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong. Made senseless things begin to do them wrong ; For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch. 30 I led them on in this distracted fear. And left sweet Pyramus translated there : When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked and straightway loved an ass. Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? Flick. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, — And the Athenian woman by his side; That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed. 40 Enter Hermia and Demetrius. Obe. Stand close : this is the same Athenian. Fuck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Her. Now I but chide ; but I should use thee worse. For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, And kill me too. The sun was not so true unto the day 50 As he to me : would he have stolen away From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon This whole earth may be bored and that the moon May through the centre creep and so displease Her brother's noontide with the Anti- podes. It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ; So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. Dein. So should the murder'd look, and so should I, Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty : Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, 60 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then ? Henceforth be never number'd among men ! O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake I Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake, And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch ! 70 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. Doji. You spend your passion on a misprised mood: I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore ? Her. A privilege never to see me more. And from thy hated presence part I so : See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein : SCENE II A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 279 Here therefore for a while I will remain. So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; Which now in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies do~07i and sleeps. Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistaken quite And laid the love -juice on some true- love's sight: Of thy misprision must perforce ensue Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd true. 91 Puck. Then fate o'er- rules, that, one man holding troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath. Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, And Helena of Athens look thou find : All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear : By some illusion see thou bring her here : I'll charm his eyes against she do ap- pear. Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go, Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. Obe, Flower of this purple dye. Hit with Cupid's archery. Sink in apple of his eye. When his love he doth espy, Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky. When thou wakest, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy. Re-ente7- Puck. Puck. Captain of our fairy band, no Helena is here at hand ; And the youth, mistook by me. Pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be! Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make Will cause Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once woo one; That must needs be sport alone ; And those things do best please me 120 That befal preposterously. Enter Lysander and Helena. Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears : Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born. In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you. Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ? Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia's : will you give her o'er? 130 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh : Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. Lys. I had no judgement when to her I swore. Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. Dein. [A^aak/ng] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine ! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 140 That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow When thou hold'st up thy hand : O, let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 28o A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM kQ.'Y: III Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent To set against me for your merriment: If you were civil and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join in souls to mock me too? If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so; To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals, and love Hermia; And now both rivals, to mock Helena: A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes Wjth your derision ! none of noble sort Would so offend a virgin and extort i6o A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so; For you love Hermia ; this you know I know : And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love and will do till my death. Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none : If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise so- journ'd, 171 And now to Helen is it home return'd. There to remain. Lys. Helen, it is not so. Deui. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know. Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. Re-enter Hermia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes. The ear more quick of apprehension makes; Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. It pays the hearing double recompense. Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; Mine ear, I tliank it, brought me to thy sound. But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth ]ircss to go ? Her. What love could press I^ysander from my side ? Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide. Fair Helena, who more engilds the night Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know. The biate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 190 Her. You speak not as you think : it cannot be. Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy! Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! Have you conspired, have you with these contrived To bait me with this foul derision? Is all the counsel that we two have shared. The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent. When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us, — O, is it all forgot? All school-days' friendship, childhood in- nocence ? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods. Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, bothinonekey, As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds, Had been incorporate. So we grew to- gether. Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition; 210 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem ; So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one and crowned with one crest. And will you rent our ancient love asunder. PCENE II A MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM 281 To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly: Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, Though I alone do feel the injury. Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. 220 I scorn you not : it seems that you scorn me. Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, To follow me and praise my eyes and face? And made your other love, Demetrius, Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, To call me goddess, nymph, divineandrare, Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander Deny your love, so rich within his soul, And tender me, forsooth, affection, 230 Ikit by your setting on, by your consent ? What though I be not so in grace as you, So hung upon witli love, so fortunate, But miserable most, to love unloved ? This you should pity rather than despise. Her. I understand not what you mean by this. Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mouths upon me when I turn my back ; Wink each at other; hold tlie sweet jest up: This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argu- ment. But fare ye well : 'tis partly my own fault ; Which death or absence soon shall remedy. Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse : My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! Hel. O excellent ! Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. Dej)i. If she cannot entreat, I can com- pel. Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat: Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers. ' 250 Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do : I swear by that which I will lose for thee, To prove him false that says I love thee not. De;)i. I say I love thee more than he can do. Lys, If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. Dem. Quick, come ! Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? Lys. Away, you Ethiope! De7?i. tNo, no; he'll . . . Seem to break loose ; take on as you would follow, But yet come not : you are a tame man, go ! Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose, 260 Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent ! Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what change is this ? Sweet love, — Lys. Thy love ! out, tawny Tartar, out ! Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! Her. Do you not jest ? Hel. Yes, sooth; and so do you. L^ys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. Dein. I would I had your bond, for I perceive A weak bond holds you : I 'II not trust your word. Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead ? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. Her. What, can you do me greater harm than hate ? 271 Hate me ! wherefore? O me ! what news, my love ! Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander? I am as fair now as I was erewhile. Since night you loved me; yet since night you left me: Why, then you left me — O, the gods for- bid !— In earnest, shall I say? Lys. Ay, by my life; And never did desire to see thee more. Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt ; 282 A MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM ACT III Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jestaSo That I do hate thee and love Helena. Her. O me! you juggler ! you canker- blossom ! You thief of love ! what, have you come by night And stolen my love's heart from him ? Hel. Fine, i' faith ! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! Her. Puppet ? why so ? ay, that way goes the game. Now I perceive that she hath made com- pare 290 Between our statures ; she hath urged her height; And with her personage, her tall person- age, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. And are you grown so high in his esteem, Because I am so dwarfish and so low ? How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; How low am I ? I am not yet so low But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. Hel, I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen. Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; .301 I am a right maid for my cowardice : Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think. Because she is something lower than my- self, That I can match her. Her. Lower ! hark, again. Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. I evermore did love you, Hermia, Did ever keep your 'counsels, never wrong'd you ; Save that, in love unto Demetrius, I told him of your stealth unto this wood. He follow'd you ; for love I folio w'd him; But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: iVnd now, so you will let me quiet go. To Athens will I bear my folly back And follow you no further : let me go : You see how simple and how fond I am. Her. Why, get you gone : who is 't that hinders you ? Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. Her. What, with Lysander? Hel. With Demetrius. Lys. Be not afraid ; she shall not harm thee, Helena. 321 Dem. No sir, she shall not, though you take her part. Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd ! She was a vixen when she went to school ; And though she be but little, she is fierce. Her. 'Little' again ! nothing but 'low ' and ' little ' ! Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? Let me come to her. Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made; You bead, you acorn. Dem. You are too officious In her behalf that scorns your services. Let her alone: speak not of Helena; Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend Never so little show of love to her, Thou shalt aby it. Lys. Now she holds me not ; Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right. Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. Dem. Follow! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole. \Exeimt Lysander and Demetrins. Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you : Nay, go not back. Hel. I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray. My legs are longer though, to run away. \Exit. SCENE II A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 283 Her. I am amazed, and know not what to say. \^Ex!f. Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou mistakest, Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully. Ihick. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me I should know the man By the Athenian garments he had on ? And so far blameless proves my enterprise, That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes ; And so far am I glad it so did sort As this their jangling I esteem a sport. Obe, Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight: Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; The starry welkin cover thou anon With drooping fog as black as Acheron, And lead these testy rivals so astray As one come not within another's way. Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 360 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; And from each other look thou lead them thus. Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, To take from thence all error with his might, And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision, And back to Athens shall the lovers wend. With league whose date till death shall never end. Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, I'll to my queen and beg her Indian boy; And then I will her charmed eye release From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, 381 Troop home to churchyards : damned spirits all, That in crossways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone ; For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They wilfully themselves exile from light And must for aye consort with black- brow 'd night. Obe. But we are spirits of another sort : I with the morning's love have oft made sport. And, like a forester, the groves may tread. Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, Turns into yellow gold his yalt green streams. But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : We may effect this business yet ere day. \^Exit. Puck. Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down : I am fear'd in field and town : Goblin, lead them up and down. Here comes one. 400 Re-enter Lysander. Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak thou now. Puck. Here, villain ; drawn and ready. Where art thou ? Lys. I will be with thee straight. Puck. Follow me, then. To plainer ground. \Exit Lysander, as foUaiving the voice. Re-enter Demetrius. Dcm. Lysander ! speak again : Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Speak ! In some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy head ? Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars. And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou child ; 284 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT IV I'll whip thee with a rod : he is defiled That draws a sword on thee. Dem. Yea, art thou there ? Puck. Follow my voice : we '11 try no manhood here. \Exeunt. Re-enter Lysander. Lys. He goes before me and still dares me on: When I come where he calls, then he is gone. The villain is much lighter-heel'd than I : I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; That fallen am I in dark uneven way, And here will rest me. \Lies down.'] Come, thou gentle day ! For if but once thou show me thy grey light, I'll find Demetrius and revenge this spite. \Sleeps. Re-enter PucK ««<■/ Demetrius. Pnck. Ho, ho, ho ! Coward, why comest thou not ? 421 Dem. Abide me, if thou darest ; for well I wot Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place, And darest not stand, nor look me in the face. Where art thou now ? Pnck. Come hither : I am here. Dem, Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear, If ever I thy face by daylight see ; Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me To measure out my length on this cold bed. By day's approach look to be visited. [Lies down and sleeps. Re-enter Helena. Ilel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 431 Abate thy hours ! Shine comforts from the east. That I may back to Athens by daylight, From these that my poor company detest : And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sor- row's eye, wSteal me awhile from mine own company. [Z/t'j- dozvn. and sleeps. Pnck. Yet but three? Come one more; Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad : Cupid is a knavish lad, 440 Thus to make poor females mad. Re-enter Her Ml A. Iler. Never so weary, never so in woe, Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers, I can no further crawl, no further go ; My legs can keep no pace with my desires. Here will I rest me till the break of day. Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! \Lies down and sleeps. Pnck. On the ground Sleep sound : I '11 apply 450 To your eye, Gentle lover, remedy. [Squeezittg the Jtiice on Lysander'' s eyes. When thou wakest. Thou takest True delight In the sight Of thy former lady's eye : And the country proverb known, That every man should take his own, In your waking shall be shown : Jack shall have Jill; 461 Nought shall go ill ; The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well. {Exit. ACT IV. Scene I. T/w same. Lysander, Demetrius, Helena, and Hermla. lying aslerp. Enter TiTANiA and Bottom; Pease- BLOSSOM, Cobweb, Moth, Mustard- seed, a7id other Eairies attending; Oberon behind zinseen. Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, SCF^JE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 285 WJiilc I thy amiable cheeks do coy, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. Bot. Where's Peaseblossom ? Peas. Ready. Bot. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where's Mounsieur Cobweb? Cob. Ready. Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good moun- sieur, get you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good moun- sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, mounsieur ; and, good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not ; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed ? Mus. Ready. Bot. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur. Mas. What's your will ? Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mounsieur; for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face ; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love ? 30 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let 's have the tongs and the bones, Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat. f Bot. Truly, a peck of provender: I •;' could munch your good dry oats. Me- thinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 40 Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me : I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. [Exeunt fairies. So doth the woodbine the sweet honey- suckle Gently entwist ; the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! [They sleep. Enter Puck. Obe. \Advancing\ Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight? Her dotage now I do begin to pity : For, meeting her of late behind the wood. Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, I did upbraid her and fall out with her ; For she his hairy temples then had rounded With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; And that same dew, which sometime on the buds Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 61 When I had at my pleasure taunted her And she in mild terms begg'd my patience, I then did ask of her her changeling child ; Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent To bear him to my bower in fairy land. And now I have the boy, I will undo This hateful imperfection of her eyes : And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp From off" the head of this Athenian swain ; That, he awaking when the other do, May all to Athens back again repair And think no more of this night's acci- dents But as the fierce vexation of a dream. But first I will release the fairy queen. Be as thou wast wont to be ; See as thou wast wont to see: Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower Hath such force and blessed power. Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 80 286 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT lY Ttta. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. Ol>e. There Hes your love. 7'ita. How came these things to pass? O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. Titania, music call ; and strike more dead Than common sleep of all these five the sense. Tita. Music, ho ! music, such as charmeth sleep ! [Alzisic, still. Puck. Now, when thou wakest, with thine own fool's eyes peep. Obe. Sound, music ! Come, my queen, take hands with me, 90 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. Now thou and I are new in amity And will to-morrow midnight solemnly Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumph- antly And bless it to all fair prosperity : There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. Fuck. Fairy king, attend, and mark : I do hear the morning lark. Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad. Trip we after night's shade: We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wandering moon. Tlta. Come, my lord, and in our flight Tell me how it came this night That I sleeping here was found With these mortals on the ground. \Exeimt. \_IIorns winded ivithin. Entej- Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and traiji. The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; For now our observation is perform' d ; And since we have the vaward of the day, My love shall hear the music of my hounds. Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go: Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. \Exit an Attendant. We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 120 The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook -knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thes- salian bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells. Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 130 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: Judge when you hear. But, soft ! what nymphs are these ? Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : I wonder of their being here together. The. No doubt they rose up early to observe The rite of May, and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity. But speak, Egeus ; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice? 141 Egc. It is, my lord. The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. [Horns and shout with in. Lys. , Dem. , Hel. , and Her. , wake and start tip. Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past : Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? Lys, Pardon, my lord. SCENE I A MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM 287 The. I pray you all, stand up. I know you two are rival enemies : How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy, To sleejD by hate, and fear no enmity? Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half sleep, half waking : but as yet, I swear, I cannot truly say how I came here; But, as I think, — for truly would I speak. And now I do bethink me, so it is, — I came with Hermia hither : our intent Was to be gone from Athens, where we might, Without the peril of the Athenian law. Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough: I beg the law, the law, upon his head. They would have stolen away ; they would, Demetrius, 161 Thereby to have defeated you and me. You of your wife and me of my consent. Of my consent that sheshouldbe your wife. Dern. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth. Of this their purpose hither to this wood; And I in fury hither follow'd them. Fair Helena in fancy following me. But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, — But by some power it is, — my love to Hermia, 170 Melted as the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gawd Which in my childhood I did dote upon ; And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, The object and the pleasure of mine eye, Is only Helena. To her, my lord. Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food ; But, as in health, come to my natural taste, Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it. 181 The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : Of this discourse we more will hear anon. Egeus, I will overbear your will ; For in the temple, by and by, with us These couples shall eternally be knit : And, for the morning now is something worn. Our purposed hunting shall be set aside. Away with us to Athens ; tnree and three, We '11 hold a feast in great solemnity. Come, Hippolyta. 191 \Exetint The. , Hip. , Ege. , and train. De??i. These things seem small and un- distinguishable. Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye. When every thing seems double. Ilel, So methinks : And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own. Dem. Are you sure That we are awake ? It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? _^Hp\ Yea; and my father. Hel. And Hippolyta. Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Dem. Why, then, we are awake: let's follow him ; And by the way let us recount our dreams. \Exeiint. Bot. \_A'iaaking\ When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer : my next is, 'Most fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho! Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows -mender ! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God's my life, stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was : man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was — there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, — and me- thought I had, — but man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream : it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and I will sing it in the latter 288 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT V end of a play, before the duke: perad- venture, to make it the more gracious, t I shall sing it at her death. \Exit. Scene II. Athens. Quince's house. Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Qui)i, Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he come home yet ? Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported. Fill. If he come not, then the play is marred : it goes not forward, doth it ? Quiji. It is not possible : you have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. Fin. No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens. lo Qni)i. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice. Flu. You must say ' paragon : ' a para- mour is, God bless us, a thing of naught. Enter Snug. Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married : if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men. Flu. O sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life ; he could not have 'scaped sixpence a day : an the duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I '11 be hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing. Enter Bottom. Bot. Where are these lads ? where are these hearts ? Quin. Bottom ! O most courageous day ! O most happy hour ! Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but ask me not what ; for i f I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps ; meet presently at the palace ; every man look o'er his part ; for the short and the long is, our play is pre- ferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen ; and let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath ; and I do not doubt but to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words : away ! go, away ! [Exeunt. ACT V. Scene I. Athens. The palace oj Theseus. ^;^^^r Theseus, Hippolyta, Philo- strate, Lords, and Attendants. Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. The. More strange than true : I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. > Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact : One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic, lo Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. wSuch tricks hath strong imagination. That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; Or in the night, imagining some fear. How easy is a bush supposed a bear ! scenp: r A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 289 Hip. But all the story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigured so to- gether, More witnesseth than fancy's images And grows to something of great con- stancy ; But, howsoever, strange and admirable. The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. ^///^rLvsANDER, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. Joy, gentle friends ! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts ! Lys. More than to us Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed I 31 Tlie. Come now ; what masques, what dances shall we have. To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bed-time ? Where is our usual manager of mirth ? What revels are in hand ? Is there no play. To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? Call Philostrate. Phil. Here, mighty Theseus. The. Say, what abridgement have you for this evening ? What masque ? what music ? How shall we beguile 40 The lazy time, if not with some delight ? Phil. There is a brief how many sports are ripe : Make choice of which your highness will see first. \Giving a paper. The. \Reads\ ' The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' We'll none of that: that have I told my love, In glory of my kinsman Hercules. [Reads] ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.' That is an old device ; and it was play'd When I from Thebes came last a con- queror. 51 [Reads] ' The thrice three Muses mourn- ing for the death Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.' VOL. I. That is some satire, keen and critical. Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. [Reads] ' A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth.' Merry and tragical ! tedious and brief ! That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord ? 60 Phil. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long, Which is as brief as I have known a play ; But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, Which makes it tedious ; for in all the play There is not one word apt, one player fitted: And tragical, my noble lord, it is; P'or Pyramus therein doth kill himself. Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess, Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed. The. What are they that do play it ? Phil. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here. Which never labour'd in their minds till now, And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories With this same play, against your nuptial. The. And we will hear it. Phil. No, my noble lord ; It is not for you : I have heard it over, And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; Unless you can find sport in their intents, Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain, , 80 To do you service. The. I will hear that play; For never anything can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in : and take your places, ladies. [Exil Philostrate. Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged And duty in his service perishing. The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. U 290 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT A- Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. TJie. The kinder we, to 'give them thanks for nothing. Our sport shall be to take what they mistake : 90 And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect +Takes it in might, not merit. Where I have come, great clerks have purposed To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; Where I have seen them shiver and look pale. Make periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practised accent in their fears And in conclusion dumbly have broke off, Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet. Out of this silence yet I pick'd a wel- come ; 100 And in the modesty of fearful duty I read as much as from the rattling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied sim- plicity In least speak most, to my capacity. Re-enter Philostrate. Phil. So please your grace, the Pro- logue is address'd. The. Let him approach. [ Flourish of tru inpets . Enter Quince/^?;- the Prologue. Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skillj no That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight We are not here. That you should here repent you, The actors are at hand and by their show You shall know all that you are like to know. The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt ; he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord : it is not enough ti > speak, but to speak true. 121 Hip. Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in government. TJie. His speech was like a tangled chain ; nothing impaired, but all dis- ordered. Who is next ? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion. Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show ; But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. This man is Pyramus, if you would know; This beauteous lady Thisby is certain. This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder; And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are content To whisper. At the which let no man wonder. This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn, Presenteth Moonshine ; for, if you will know, By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. This grisly beast, which Lion hight b}^ name, 140 The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, Did scare away, or rather did affright ; And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall. Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : Whereat, with blade, with bloody blame- ful blade, SCENE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 291 He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade, His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 150 Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain At large discourse, while here they do remain. \Exeitnt Prologue, Py ramus. This be, lion, and Moonshine. The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. Dern. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when many asses do. Wall. In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think. That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 1 60 Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall ; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better ? De/Ji. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. Re-enter Pyramus. The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 170 Pyr. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black! 0 night, which ever art when day is not! O night, O night ! alack, alack, alack, 1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall. That stand'st between her father's ground and mine ! Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne ! [ Wall holds up his fingers. Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for this ! But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss! 181 Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! TJie. The wall, methinks, being sen- sible, should curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. ' Deceiving me ' is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes. Re-enter Thisbe. This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 190 For parting my fair Pyramus and me ! My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. Pyr. I see a voice : now will I to the chink, To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby ! This. My love thou art, my love I think. Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace; And, like Limander, am I trusty still. This. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 200 This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall ! This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all. Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway? This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay. [Excnnt Pyramus and Thisbe. Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so ; 292 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT V And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. lExit. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. TJie. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. TJie. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. 221 Re-enter Lion and Moonshine. Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, May now perchance both quake and tremble here. When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam ; For, if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, 'twere pity on my life. The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. 231 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True ; and a goose for his dis- cretion. Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;— Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. He dares not come there for the for, you see, it is already in The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present ; Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be. The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the man should be put into the lanthorn. How is it else the man i' the moon ? Dem, candle; snuff. Hip. I am aweary of this moon : would he would change ! The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Lys. Proceed, Moon. 260 Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the lanthorn is the moon ; I, the man in the moon ; this thorn-bush, my thorn -bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all these are in the moon. But, silence ! here comes Thisbe. Re-enter Thisbe. This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love ? Lion. [Roaring] Oh- \Thisbe runs off. Dem. Well roared. Lion. 270 The. Well run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. \The Lion shakes Thisbe'' s mantle, and exit. The. Well moused. Lion. Lys. And so the lion vanished. Dem. And then came Py ramus. Re-enter Pyramus. Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams ; I thank thee. Moon, for shining now so bright ; For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. SCENE I A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 293 But stay, O spite ! 281 But mark, poor knight, What dreadful dole is herel Eyes, do you see ? How can it be ? O dainty duck ! O dear ! Thy mantle good, What, stain'd with blood ! Approach, ye Furies fell! O Fates, come, come, 290 Cut thread and thrum; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Fyr. O wherefore. Nature, didst thou lions frame ? Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear : Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd with cheer. Come, tears, confound; 300 tOut, sword, and wound The pap of Pyramus ; Ay, that left pap. Where heart doth hop: {^Stabs himself. Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead. Now am I fled ; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light ; Moon, take thy flight: 310 \Exit Aloonshine. Now die, die, die, die, die. \Dies. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead; he is nothing. TJie. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an ass. Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? The. She will find him by starlight. 1 Here she comes; and her passion ends : the play. 321 Re-enter Thisbe. Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus : I hope she will be brief. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for a man, God warrant us ; she for a woman, God bless us. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she means, videlicet: — This. Asleep, my love ? 331 What, dead, my dove ? O Pyramus, arise ! Speak, speak. Quite dumb ? Dead, dead ? A tomb Must cover thy sweet eyes. These lily lips. This cherry nose, These yellow cowslip cheeks, Are gone, are gone : 340 Lovers, make moan : His eyes were green as leeks. O Sisters Three, Come, come to me, W^ith hands as pale as milk ; Lay them in gore, Since you have shore With shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word : Come, trusty sword; 350 Come, blade, my breast imbrue : \Stabs herself. And, farewell, friends; Thus Thisby ends: Adieu, adieu, adieu. \^Dies. The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and Wall too. Boi. \Starting up'] No, I assure you ; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company ? 361 The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs no excuse. Never ex- cuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy : and so 294 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM ACT V it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But, come, your Bergomask : let your epilogue alone. \^A dance. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : 370 Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost f^^iry time. I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn As much as we this night have over- watch'd. This palpable-gross play hath well be- guiled The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revels and new jollity. \Exennt. Enter PucK. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon ; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores. All with weary task fordone. 381 Now the wasted brands do glow. Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud. Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night That the graves all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide : And we fairies, that do run 390 By the triple Hecate's team. From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic: not a mouse vShall disturb this hallow'd house : I am sent with broom before. To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titan lA zvith their train. Obe. Through the house give glimmer- ing light, By the dead and drowsy fire : Every elf and fairy sprite 400 Hop as light as bird from brier; And this ditty, after me. Sing, and dance it trippingly. Ilta. First, rehearse your song by rote, To each word a warbling note : Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place. \^Song- ajid dance. Obe. Now, until the break of day, Through this house each fairy stray. To the best bride-bed will we, 410 Which by us shall blessed be ; And the issue there create Ever shall be fortunate. So shall all the couples three Ever true in loving be ; And the l)lots of Nature's hand Shall not in their issue stand ; Never mole, hare lip, nor scar. Nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in nativity, 420 Shall upon their children be. With this field-dew consecrate. Every fairy take his gait ; And each several chamber bless. Through this palace, with sweet peace; And the owner of it blest Ever shall in safety rest. Trip away; make no stay; Meet me all by break of day. \Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and train. Puck. If we shadows have offended, 430 Think but this, and all is mended. That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend : If you pardon, we will mend : And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the servient's tongue, We will make amends ere long; 441 Else the Puck a liar call : So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends. And Robin shall restore amends. lExit. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE DRAMATIS PERSONS. I Tubal, a Jew, his friend. Launcelot Gobbo, the clown, ser- vant to Shylock. Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. Balthasar, Stephano, servants to Portia. The DuKK OK Venice. The Prince of Morocco, ) suitors to The Prince of Arragon, \ Portia. Antonio, a merchant of Venice. Bassanio, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia. Salanio, \ Salarino, I friends to Antonio and Gratiano, I Bassanio. Salerio, ) Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. Shylock, a rich Jew. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants. Portia, a rich heiress. Nerissa, her waiting-maid. Jessica, daughter to Shylock. iCENE : Partly at Ve?iicc, ajid partly at Behiiont, the seat of Portia, on the Continejit. ACT L Scene L Venice. A street. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Ant, In sootli, I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn ; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself. Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; There, where your argosies with portly sail, Like signiors and rich Imrghers on the flood, lo Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Do overpeer the petty traffickers. That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind, Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads ; And every object that might make me fear 20 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt Would make me sad. Salar. My wind cooling my broth Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great at sea might do. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats. And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs To kiss her burial. Should I go to church I And see the holy edifice of stone, 30 296 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT 1 And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream. Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the thought To think on this, and shall I lack the thought That such a thing bechanced would make me sad ? But tell not me ; I know, Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 41 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. Salar. Why, then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie ! Salar. Not in love neither ? Then let us say you are sad. Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two- headed Janus, ■ 50 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper, And other of such vinegar aspect That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laugh- able. Enter Bass an 10, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : We leave you now with better company. Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, 60 If worthier friends had not prevented me. Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you And you embrace the occasion to depart. Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? say, when ? You grow exceeding strange : must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. \_ExeHnt Salarino and Salanio. Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you : but at dinner- time, 70 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Bass. I will not fail you. Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world : They lose it that do buy it with much care : Believe me, you are marvellously changed. Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part. And mine a sad one. Gra. Let me play the fool : With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 80 And let my liver rather heat with wine Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within. Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio — I love thee, and it is my love that sjjeaks — There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, SCENE I THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 297 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 90 With purpose to be dress 'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, As who should say ' I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!' 0 my Antonio, I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing, when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 1 '11 tell thee more of this another time : But fish not, with this melancholy bait. For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. 102 Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile : I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time : I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Aiit. Farewell : I '11 grow a talker for this gear. no Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible. \Exeunt Gi'atiano and Lorenzo. Ant. Is that any thing now ? Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search. Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promised to tell me of? Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant con- tinuance : Nor do I now make moan to be abridged From such a noble rate ; but my chief care Is to come fairly off from the great debts Wherein my time something too prodigal Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money and in love, And from your love I have a warranty To unburden all my plots and purposes How to get clear of all the debts I owe. Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assured, My purse, my person, my extremest means. Lie all unlock 'd to your occasions. Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 140 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight The self- same way with more advised watch. To find the other forth, and by ad- venturing both I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof. Because what follows is pure innocence. I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth. That which I owe is lost ; but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 149 As I will watch the aim, or to find both Or bring your latter hazard back again And thankfully rest debtor for the first. Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but time To wind about my love with circumstance ; And out of doubt you do me now more wrong In making question of my uttermost Than if you had made waste of all I have : Then do but say to me what I should do That in your knowledge may by me be done. And I am prest unto it : therefore, speak. 298 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT I Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left ; And she is fair and, fairer than that word, Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages : Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia : Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, For tlie four winds blow in from every coast Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; Which makes her seat of Belmont Col- chos' strand, 171 And many Jasons come in quest of her, 0 my Antonio, had I but the means To hold a rival place with one of them, 1 have a mind presages me such thrift. That I should questionless be fortunate! Ant. Thou know'st that, all my for- tunes are at sea; Neither have I money nor commodity To raise a present sum : therefore go forth ; Try what my credit can in Venice do: That shall be rack'd, even to the utter- most, 181 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go, presently inquire, and so will I, Where money is, and I no question make To have it of my trust or for my sake. {Exeiuit. Scene II. Bdnwnt. A room in Portia's Jiouse. Enter Portia ajid Nerissa. For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are : and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness there- fore, to be seated in the mean : super- fluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 10 For. Good sentences and well pro- nounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed, ^^ For. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree : such a hare is mad- ness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose !' I may neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none ? 29 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men at their death have good inspirations : therefore the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly Init one who shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come ? For. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou namest them, I will describe them ; and, according to my description, level at my affection. Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. For. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother played false with a smith. Ner. Then there is the County Palatine. For. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say ' If you will not have me, choose : ' he hears merry tales and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, SCENE II THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 299 being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these two ! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ? For. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mooi I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, \ Who told me, in the narrow seas that f part The French and English, there miscar- ried A vessel of our country richly fraught : I thought upon Antonio when he told me; 31 And wish'd in silence that it were not his. Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; Vet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : Bassanio told him he would make some speed Of his return : he answer'd, 'Do not so; wSlubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, But stay the very riping of the time ; 40 And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me. Let it not enter in your mind of love : Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there :' And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. And with affection wondrous sensible He wrung Bassanio's hand ; and so they parted. Salan. I think he only loves the world for him. 50 I pray thee, let us go and find him out And quicken his embraced heaviness With some delight or other. Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. Scene IX. Belmont. A roojn in Portia's house. Enter Nerissa with a Servitor. Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee ; draw the curtain straight : The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, And comes to his election presently. Flourisli of cornets. Enter the Prince OF Arragon, Portia, and their t7'ains. Tor. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince : If you choose that wherein I am con- tain'd. Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized : But if you fail, without more speech, my lord. You must be gone from hence immediately. Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things : 312 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT II First, never to unfold to any one lo Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail Of the right casket, never in my life To woo a maid in way of marriage : Lastly, If I do fail in fortune of my choice, Immediately to leave you and be gone. Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear That conies to hazard for my worthless self. Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now To my heart's hope ! Gold ; silver ; and base lead. 20 ' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard. What says the golden chest ? ha ! let me see : ' W^ho qjiooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' What many men desire ! that ' many ' may be meant By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ; Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet. Builds in the weather on the outward wall. Even in the force and road of casualty. I Vv^ill not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits And rank me with the barbarous multi- tudes. Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure- house ; Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : ' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves :' And well said too ; for who shall go about To cozen fortune and be honourable Without the stamp of merit ? Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. 40 O, that estates, degrees and offices Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour W^ere purchased by the merit of the wearer ! How many then should cover that stand bare ! How many be commanded that com- mand ! How much low peasantry would then be glean 'd From the true seed of honour ! and how much honour Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times l"o be new-varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice : ' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' 50 I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, And instantly unlock my fortunes here. YHe opens tJie silver casket. Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there. Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot. Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. How much unlike art thou to Portia ! How much unlike my hopes and my deservings ! ' Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.' Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better? 60 Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices And of opposed natures. Ar, What is here ? \^Reads'\ The fire seven times tried this: Seven times tried that judgement is, _ That did never choose amiss. Some there be that shadows kiss; Such have but a shadow's bliss : There be fools alive, I wis, Silver'd o'er ; and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, i SCENE IX THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 313 I will ever be your head : 71 So be gone : you are sped. Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here : With one fool's head I came to woo, But I go away with two. Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath, Patiently to bear my wroth. {Exeunt Ajn-agon and train. For. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. O, these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 80 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy. Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. Enter a Servant! Serv. Where is my lady ? For. Here : what would my lord ? Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of his lord ; From whom he bringeth sensible regreets, To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 90 Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love : A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. For. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, Thou spend'st such high -day wit in praising him. Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 100 ■ Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be ! \Exeiint. W HI. Scene I. Venice. A street. Enter Salanio and Salarino. Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? Salar. Why, yet it lives there un- checked that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the place ; a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped ginger or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company ! — Salar. Come, the full stop. Salan. Ha ! what sayest thou ? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship. Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. 21 Salan. Let me say ' amen ' betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. Enter Shylock. How now, Shylock ! w^hat news among the merchants ? Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter's flight. Salar. That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 30 Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged ; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. SJiy. wShe is damned for it. Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these years ? Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 40 Salar. There is more difference be- tween thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory ; more between your bloods than there is between red wine and rhen- ish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no ? 314 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT ITT Shy. There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto ; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon the mart ; let him look to his bond : he was wont to call me usurer ; let him look to his bond : he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond. Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh: what's that good for ? Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; and what's his reason ? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. Entei' a Servant. Se7'v. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and desires to speak with you both. Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. Enter Tubal. Salan. Here comes another of the tribe : a third cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. [Exetinf Sala?i., Sa/ar., and So'vaiit. Shy. How now, Tubal ! what ne\vs from Genoa? hast thou found my daughter ? Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. Shy. Why, there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I never felt it till now : two thousand ducats in that ; and other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear ! would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin I No news of them ? Why, so: and I know not what's spent in the search : why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders ; no sighs but of my breathing ; no tears but of my shedding. loi Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too : Antonio, as I heard in Genoa, — Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck ? Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. Shy. I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true? Ttib. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. iic Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : good news, good news ! ha, ha ! where ? in Genoa ? Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one night fourscore ducats. Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me : I shall never see my gold again : fourscore ducats at a sitting ! fourscore ducats ! Tzib. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 120 Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll torture him : I am glad of it. Titb. One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : it was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah when T was a bachelor : I SCENE I THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 315 would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys. Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for, were he out of Venice, I can make what merchan- dise I will. Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our synagogue, Tubal. \Exeiint. Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's Jiouse. Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and Attendants. For. I pray you, tarry : pause a day or two Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, I lose your company : therefore forbear awhile. There's something tells me, but it is not love, r would not lose you ; and you know yourself, Rate counsels not in such a quality. But lest you should not understand me well, — And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — I would detain you here some month or two Before you venture for me. I could teach you 10 How to choose right, but I am then forsworn ; So will I never be : so may you miss me ; But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin. That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, They have o'erlook'd me and divided me ; One halfof me is yours, the other half yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours. O, these naughty times Put bars between the owners and their rights ! And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so, 20 Let fortune go to hell for it, not T. I speak too long ; but 'tis to peize the time. To eke it and to draw it out in length. To stay you from election. Bass. Let me choose ; For as I am, I live upon the rack. Tor. Upon the rack, Bassanio ! then confess What treason there is mingled with your love. Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust, Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: 31 There may as well be amity and life 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. For. Ay, but I. fear you speak upon the rack, Where men enforced do speak anything. Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. For. Well then, confess and live. Bass. 'Confess' and 'love' Had been the very sum of my confession : O happy torment, when my torturer Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! But let me to my fortune and the caskets. For. Away, then ! I am lock'd in one of them : 40 If you do love me, you will find me out. Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, Fading in music : that the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream And watery death-bed for him. He may win; And what is music then ? Then music is Even as the flourish when true subjects bow To a new-crowned monarch : such it is As are those dulcet sounds in break of day 51 That creep into the dreaming bride- groom's ear And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, 3i6 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT III With no less presence, but with much more love, Than young Alcides, when he did redeem The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy To the sea -monster: I stand for sacri- fice; The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, With bleared visages, come forth to view The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules! Live thou, I live : with much much more dismay 6i I view the fight than thou that makest the fray. Music y whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself. Song. Tell me where is fancy bred. Or in the heart or in the head ? How begot, how nourished ? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed ; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring fancy's knell: I '11 begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell. Bass. So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text. Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts : 82 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk; And these assume but valour's excrement To render them redoubted ! Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight ; Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it: So are those crisped snaky golden locks Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. Thus ornament is but the guiled shore To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf +Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, The seeming truth which cunning times put on 100 To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,^ Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee; Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead. Which rather threatenest than dost pro- mise aught. Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ; And here choose I : joy be the conse- quence ! For. [Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air. As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair. And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! no O love. Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess. T feel too much thy blessing : make it less, For fear I surfeit. Bass. What find I here ? \Opening the leaden casket. Fair Portia's counterfeit ! What degii- god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes ? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, ^ Parted with sugar breath : so sweet a bar SCENE II THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 317 Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs 120 The painter plays the spider and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men Faster than gnats in cobwebs : but her eyes, — How could he see to do them ? having made one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his x\nd leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance. Here 's the scroll, 130 The continent and summary of my fortune. \Reads\ You that choose not by the view. Chance as fair and choose as true ! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new. If you be well pleased with this And hold your fortune for your bliss. Turn you where your lady is And claim her with a loving kiss. A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave ; 140 I come by note, to give and to receive. Like one of two contending in a prize. That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes. Hearing applause and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so; As doubtful whether what I see be true. Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. For. You see me. Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 150 vSuch as I am : though for myself alone I would not be ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better ; yet, for you I would be trebled twenty times myself ; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich ; That only to stand high in your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account ; but the full sum of me fls sum of something, which, to term in gross, 160 Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, un- practised ; Happy in this, she is not yet so old fBut she may learn ; happier than this. She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king. Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now converted : but now I was the lord Of this fair mansion, master of my ser- vants, 170 Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now. This house, these servants and this same myself Are yours, my lord : I give them with this ring; Which when. you part from, lose, or give away. Let it presage the ruin of your love And be my vantage to exclaim on you. Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words. Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; And there is such confusion in my powers. As, after some oration fairly spoke 180 By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude; Where every something, being blent to- gether. Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead ! Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper. To cry, good joy : good joy, my lord and lady! 190 Gra. My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady. :i8 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT in I wish you all the joy that you can wish; For I am sure you can wish none from me : And when your honours mean to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, Even at that time I may be married too. Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. Gi-a. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; You loved, I loved for intermission. 201 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. Your fortune stood upon the casket there. And so did mine too, as the matter falls; For wooing here until I sweat again, And swearing till my very roof was dry With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, I got a promise of this fair one here To have her love, provided that your fortune Achieved her mistress. Po7\ Is this true, Nerissa ? Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal. 211 Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage. Gra. We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats. Ner. What, and stake down ? Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down. 220 But who comes here ? Lorenzo and his infidel ? What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio ? Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio, a Messenger from Veiiice. Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ; If that the youth of my new interest here Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, I bid my very friends and countrymen, Sweet Portia, welcome. Tor. So do I, my lord: They are entirely welcome. Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord. My purpose was not to have seen you here; 230 But meeting with Salerio by the way, lie did intreat me, past all saying nay. To come with him along. Saler. I did, my lord ; And I have reason for it. Signor Antonio Commends him to you. \Gives Bassanio a letter. Bass. Ere I ope his letter, I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there Will show you his estate. Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her welcome. 240 Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice ? How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? I know he will be glad of our success ; We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. Saler. I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost. Tor. There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper. That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek : Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ! 250 With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of any- thing That this same paper brings you. Bass. O sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasant'st. words That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, \ SCENE II THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 319 I freely told you, all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady. Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart. When I told you 261 My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, I have engaged myself to a dear friend, Engaged my friend to his mere enemy, To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; The paper as the body of my friend, And every word in it a gaping wound, Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? Ilave all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit ? 270 From Tripolis, from Mexico and England, From Lisbon, Barbary and India ? And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch Of merchant-marring rocks ? Saler. Not one, my lord. Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Jew, He would not take it. Never did I know A creature, that did bear the shape of man, So keen and greedy to confound a man : He plies the duke at morning and at night, ^ And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 280 If they deny him justice : twenty mer- chants, The duke himself, and the magnificoes Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; But none can drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond. Jes. When I was with him I have heard him swear To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio's flesh Than twenty times the value of the sum That he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 290 If law, authority and power deny not, It will